Four Corners
by Kataoi
Summary: It's Mystery Science Theater 3000...in high school. Clayton "Dr. F" Forrester, Joel Robinson, Mike Nelson, and Frank...uh, Frank, stand in opposite corners from one another, but one unfortunate event meshes their worlds in ways Clay never thought likely.
1. Dr F

Forward: Alright, let's make this quick. Here is the best summary of this: It's Mystery Science Theater 3000...in high school. Think manga-esque. At least give it a try, won't you?

I'm not sure the events that led up to its creation, but I do know it was 2am, there was doodling involved, and I essentially was the idiot that accepted the bet to write it.

* * *

He wasn't much to look at on a passing glance. But give him one second of your attention, and his mere presence would leave you floored.

Clayton Forrester, age eighteen, probably better referred to as Clay or by his nickname, "Dr. F". Senior year of high school for him was going about as well as every other grade had – socially abysmal, academically staggering. He spent most of his time in the science labs, taking two of the three AP sciences in one swing (he had taken the other previously as a junior) while cramming on the math. The open slots in his schedule were filled with the meaningless dribble required for a senior – family living was one, and then another English credit to wrap up the four needed – and the rest, study hall.

Of all the student body, there was maybe possibly kinda sorta one person whom he might call his friend – but that wasn't because he wanted to. It was because the kid followed him around like a slobbering puppy. An ugly slobbering puppy. So like…a pug? So ugly it's cute? Maybe, but for Clay? Just an annoyance.

The kid's name was Frank. He was also a senior, most likely seventeen (he wasn't going to go out of his way to find out), and for some reason, he tagged along with Clay whenever he could. This was bizarre in and of itself, as the science prodigy wasn't one to attract people (more like repel – and hard), but he _had_ done it before. When he was a sophomore, a freshman named don't Laurence had been his comrade in doing some mischief around the school. Then, one day, Larry's family up and moved and he hadn't heard from him since.

Which sucked, because Frank wasn't much of an intellect. Kinda dumb, naïve, and just…well, not smart. He was always willing to be a lackey, though, which turned out to be rather useful if, per say, Clay got hungry. He could tell Frank to get him a snack from the vending machines and not have to lift a finger – and the poor dope would do it.

Even if he didn't have any true friends, there _was_ one person in the school that he absolutely loathed. That was Joel Robinson, age eighteen – a stoner kid, most likely, if going by his always mellowed-out expression, monotonic voice, and somewhat long hair (not that Clay could say anything – his own reached well past his shoulder-blades and was always tied into a ponytail. Joel's only went to his chin, if that.)

Robinson was a loner much like himself, but was actually liked by people. He was off-kilter and odd, but extremely creative, thinking on a completely different track than anybody else. Therein lay the problem: He was a master inventor, tinkering with everything known to mankind, re-building and sculpting objects into spectacular new things.

The two were so similar, yet polar opposites. Clay dealt with the chemicals, Joel the physical objects. But the latter got more attention than the former, if just because of his more approachable personality.

It pissed him off royally.

"Why," he seethed, banging his head on the smooth black lab table. A beaker of distilled water sat on a hot plate in front of him, climbing up the boiling point. He was skipping out on lunch – again – to run this little test.

"Yeah, the tests were pretty good this time aro – Clayton?" Mr. Curtis, instructor of AP Chemistry, walked into the room, a bit surprised at finding his top student at the lab table. "What are you doing here? Isn't it your lunch?"

"Yeah. I'm not hungry, though" Clay lied, rubbing his stomach at the growl that croaked out. "I just…I really had to –"

"Get it, got it," Curtis waved off, sitting down at his desk, rotating the yellow apple in his hand. "I don't mind you being here, since I know you're not going to cause any harm, but…I'm concerned about your health. You look exhausted."

"It's my natural look," he responded, staring at the water in the beaker. "I'm always tired."

"Have you tried sleeping?"

"Once. I didn't like it much."

"Clayton…"

"I – I'm kidding, geez." Clay grinned – probably one of the few places he felt comfortable and welcomed enough doing so – brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face. "I don't know why. Just a thing, I guess." He peered at his wristwatch, the glass cover giving a very faint reflection of his face. There were clearly bags under his eyes – not terrible, but not really good either.

"So what are you doing?" Curtis asked, biting into his apple while he sorted a pile of scantron tests.

"I'm running some experiments on distilled water and seeing how it reacts to different things," he replied, not looking up from the notebook he was jotting in. "Seeing its properties upon boiling and freezing and the addition of basic ingredients…salt, sugar, that kinda stuff…"

"What for?"

Clay looked up, as if shocked by the question. "Because I…want to know what'll happen."

"…Right."

That was what science was all about, wasn't it? Experimenting just to see what would come from an idea, a hypothesis. It was there to scratch the itch in your brain about the what-ifs of the world around you. Did he really need a reason?

Well, truthfully, he did – after all, it was school equipment and such, and it was only by the good graces of Curtis that Clay was able to do such things and not get reprimanded. Still, he had a surprising brush with his conscious, and the concern showed by the teacher over him not eating was enough to make him uncomfortable and wanting to get out of that room.

"I'll be back after school to clean up. I'm going to get lunch."

"Alright, I'll take your word on that."

---

"This blows," Clay muttered, sinking his head into the calculus textbook. It was study hall, a period he shared with an…interesting mix of people.

First off, Frank was there, sitting in the desk to the left of Clay, doing his best to work through whatever grammar assignment had been dealt to him in English. In the back of the row of desks was Joel, his feet propped up on the chair across the aisle from him, leaning back with his notebook and seemingly drawing out some strange schematic or another.

In a corner on the opposite side of the room sat a trio of girls, chittering quietly amongst themselves and giggling every so often. In the center were the jocks, talking rather loudly between themselves about whatever-the-hell they talk about…Then there were the drop-out kids, heads down on the desks, sleeping off the booze from a weekend party…On the outer fringes, the quiet ones….And then off in his own corner, another boy that Clay held a low opinion of.

Grant it, there wasn't much to be angry about with this guy. Mike Nelson was his name, age seventeen – a group floater, it seemed. He played basketball during the winter, but otherwise laid low during the rest of the year. If rumors were true, he was also in the jazz band, but nobody was really certain. Besides, it's not like Clay _knew_ other people's schedules. That would be a bit too stalkerish if such were the case.

What made Nelson intimidating was his height – over six feet and built to withstand a F5 tornado (which might prove useful, living in the Midwest and all). Yet he was hapless and a bit on the easily-duped side, and smiled in such a way that he could never be taken seriously and get away with kicking somebody's ass. No doubt he could do it, he just couldn't _do_ it.

It was a shame. Take Nelson's body and Frank's brain, and you'd have the perfect henchman.

"If only…" Clay murmured, twirling his pencil under his thumb. Unfortunately, science hadn't quite gotten that far – well, real science at least. He remembered watching some movie, late at night, called 'The Brain That Wouldn't Die', in which a man took the decapitated head of his fiancée and kept it alive in…a pan. It was genuine 1950s pseudo-science.

"If only?" Frank wondered, glancing up from his notebook. "If only…?"

"If only you had meat for brains instead of lettuce," Clay spat, though not really impressed with the remark. He glanced off to the side and quickly sighed before staring back straight again. "I'm _thinking_, Frank. You might want to try it some time."

"Oh okay that sounds – hey!"

"That's wrong, by the way," Clay observed mildly, glancing at the paper underneath Frank's hand. "The object of the preposition is 'razor', not 'shave'."

Frank looked at the book, then the answer he had previously wrote, furrowing his eyebrows before erasing it and writing down what had just been told. "T-thanks…" he mumbled.

Clay looked at his own homework, roughly two-thirds of the way finished, sticking his tongue out briefly at the work. It was so trivial and useless to be doing the busywork…but he knew that if he didn't do it, he'd fail the class, which meant taking it again…which meant more time in school…The consequences were worse than the suffering.

"I hate this," he grumbled, setting his pencil down and taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. They were throbbing in a dull headache, but it was one he had had for so long that it had just melted into a regularity. With a defeated sigh, he slipped his glasses back on…

…and was a bit annoyed when one of the temples fell off and clattered against the desk.

"What the hell," he muttered, balancing the glasses against his face while picking up the fallen piece. "Why did you fall off…?"

Frank peered across the aisle, leaning out of his desk to observe. "Seems like the screw popped out," he said, noticing the empty slot where the tiny fastener would go.

"Just my luck," Clay seethed. "Now what am I supposed to do…"

"You could ask Joel if he can fix it," Frank suggested innocently. He was blatantly unaware of Clay's loathing for the boy – which wasn't exactly his fault, as it was something he just didn't share with others – and was taken aback by the deathglare given to him.

"Not a chance," Clay snapped, hands shaking slightly in anger. "I'll walk around _blind_ before I ask _him_ for help."

"Oh come on, you would not." Frank turned around in his seat and called out, "Hey Joel?" Clay lunged across the aisle in protest…but not fast enough.

"Hmmm?" came that familiar dazed voice. "What's up Frank?"

His face brightened with an idiotic smile. Clay looked away, furious and pushing down his internal rage. "Clay's glasses broke – like, one of the screws popped out…Can ya fix it?"

Joel perked up, setting his books down and dropping his legs from the seat he had them perched on. "Probably," he said, hefting himself out of his seat and rummaging through the various pockets on the baggy jeans he wore. He pulled out a zipped-up carrying case from one pocket, opening it up and withdrawing a small screwdriver, before reaching in another pocket and taking out a divided plastic box that rattled with screws, staples, thumb-tacks, and a tube of super glue. "Can I see them?"

"Yeah sure!" Frank snatched the glasses from a distracted Clay (distracted by his annoyance and brooding), who became aware of the situation a bit too late to do anything.

"Yeah…Yeah, basic tiny screw…I've got it, hang on." Joel popped open the lid from the box and flicked out a small screw, eyeballing the size. "…Can I see them?"

Begrudgingly, Clay handed him the glasses, hoping that his malice would turn into poison and that upon touch, the inventor would keel over. But life didn't work that way, and within moments a mended pair of spectacles was handed back to him.

"Thanks," he muttered with such spite that even Joel flinched a little. Without fanfare, he slipped them back on before turning back to his textbook and working out the next problem.

"He's kinda crabby," Frank mouthed. Joel raised an eyebrow, quietly pocketing the screw box while withdrawing the screwdriver case.

"I see," he said rather unconvincingly, unzipping the case and slipping the screwdriver into its sleeve. "Well uh…you're welcome, I…think."

Frank seemed rather pleased with himself as Joel returned to his seat. He turned to Clay, a beaming smile on his face. "Aren't you glad?"

"Honestly?" Clay pushed the glasses up his nosebridge, turned to Frank, tilted his head up, and widened his eyes. "_I'm going to kill you in your sleep._"

Thankfully, the bell rang.

* * *

  
Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	2. Invention Exchange

Heads-Up: Don't think about the science. "Everything I know, I ganked from MythBusters."

And congratulations on reading this! Means you're willing to go this far…

* * *

The end of the day came at 2:30, and it honestly couldn't come soon enough. A light snow had been falling since noon, a blanket covering the student parking lot. Clay dragged in the crisp air before blowing it out, slightly amused when his glasses' lens fogged over. It was one of those simple childhood pleasures that hadn't left him yet, surprisingly enough. A quick wipe with the finger made them clear again.

This time of the day always marked madness in the lot, but since it was early, few students had made it out. Snow crunching underfoot, Clay shoved his hands in his coat pockets, helping keep the messenger bag close to his side. Everything was going well until…

"Hey, Forrester…"

Clay snapped his head up and shot a glance behind him. There he was.

"Robinson."

The inventor walked up the path, jerking his hand in a greeting motion. His jacket was an odd throwback to the 60s and reminded Clay of the ones worn by the marching band, though instead of the funny hats (shakos, right?), a green knit cap sat atop his head. "Hey, I wanted to ask you about your glasses…"

"I didn't need your help," Clay quipped, clenching his fists in his pockets. "I could've – could've…"

"Used tape?" Joel asked casually, an amused but washed-out smile crawling onto his face. It was how his emotions were – there, but diluted. "Don't think you'd be the kind to do that…"

"M-my vision's not that bad anyways. I could've survived without them."

"Y'know, I don't really believe that, but I'm not going to argue with you." Joel swung his backpack – an army-like one, loaded up with pockets, bungee cords, clips, zippers, and belts – off his shoulder, quickly unzipping the top-most pocket and pulling out an address book. "I know a guy, sells bunch of medical stuff, op-hat-malo-gist…"

"Ophthalmologist?" Clay corrected impatiently.

"Yeah. He likes eye stuff. And if you ever need your specks fixed again –"

"- I'll just get new ones." He turned around and began to walk towards the parking lot before stopping and jerking his head back. "You shouldn't be so nice, Robinson. It only leads to pain."

"I'm not nice on purpose," Joel replied, throwing the address book back in the pocket and zipping it up. "I don't try. I just do what I do, and it happens to be something people like."

Doing what he did…He did that well. But he didn't do it well enough to gain actual friends. It wasn't like Clay could exactly say much – except that in the absolute very least, he had Frank has a lackey.

Still…

Clay knew he was jealous of Robinson. It was something so obvious that he had no problem admitting it to himself. That didn't mean he was _happy_ about it, though. How could anybody be happy about being inferior to somebody? Such a thing just didn't make sense. To be _lower_ than somebody…_worse_ than them…

"Forrester, did you hear me?"

Snapping his eyes towards Joel, Clay released his thoughts and stared heavily at the inventor. "Still here? What do you want?"

"…I was wondering if you had a shovel in your car."

Raising his eyebrows, it took everything in him not to bust out laughing. "The great Joel Robinson, master tinkerer, doesn't have a nifty little gadget to get himself out of the wet stuff?" The two started walking towards the parking lot, Joel hanging back about ten feet, slightly embarrassed (but not really showing it).

"No, I've _got_ something…it just isn't ready, the wires are still exposed…and snow's water…"

Clay snickered, grinning. Now was the time to show off his latest…experiment.

"I've got a proposition for you, Robinson," he said suddenly, turning on his heel and creating a circular track in the snow. "Let's call it an…invention exchange."

"Invention exchange?" Joel asked dubiously, withdrawing his car keys from one of his pants pocket. "What do you mean by that?"

"Come now, we're both men of the prototypes. You mess with the physical, I with the chemical…as you see, we both lack on the opposite spectrum."

Joel raised an eyebrow as he unlocked the door to his car (a red, beat-up Jeep, covered in salt and ice) and threw his backpack into the passenger seat. "Alright, I see your point…What of it? You want to hock one of my inventions?"

"Tch, no. I just think that, by seeing what each other does, we could…jog our creativity a bit." Clay unclipped his messenger bag and withdrew a thermos, the picture on the side having long faded off. "Here now – to give you my assurance, I'll go first." Clearing his throat, Clay held up the thermos in a manner befitting of a game show prize mistress. "Snow. It's a part of life when you live in the Midwest, especially in Minnesota." As if to accentuate his point, the wind picked up, whipping his bangs in the frigid air.

"Yeah, where ten below is considered a good day…" Joel mused, slightly interested in what was going on before him.

Clay sighed, shaking his head. "And as we all know," he continued, "Just ten minutes in the snow can mean you digging out your car for an hour. What's the solution?" He paused, quickly thinking up a name. "Forrester's Snow Away!"

"'Snow Away'?" the inventor snorted, holding in a laugh but letting a grin creep out.

"Shut up, that's all I could think of," Clay hissed. "Anyways, it's very simple, all you do is –"

"HEY, CLAY!" Frank's voice rang out against the sharp air. Clay groaned and looked towards the doorway, where the main wave of students was now being released. The mop of (oddly) white hair balanced on that slightly pudgy body, which was wrapped in a black jacket, dashed towards him, hampered slightly by the snow on the ground. Clutched in his hands was a forest green notebook, papers sticking out of it at odd corners and angles.

"What do you want, Frank?" Clay asked acidly, tapping his foot on the ground. Frank was breathing somewhat heavily, judging by the amount of billows coming from his mouth.

"Your notebook. You – you forgot your notebook. I thought you would – you know – need it. …Hey, wha'cha got there?"

Clay accepted the notebook being handed to him, quickly slipping it into his bag. "This, Frank, is an invention…Forrester's Snow Away, title pending. Anyways…You see these tires? Given the snow and ice and the incline of the lot, you're not going anywhere –"

"I think I'm okay there, actually –"

"Shut up Robinson, this is MY invention – Like I was saying, you're not going anywhere dug in like that." Clay swiftly unscrewed the lid off of the thermos, excited to see that the liquid had remained just as it had in the chem lab. No steam was being given off. "But with just a splash of this –"

It goes without saying that Clayton "Dr. F" Forrester didn't exactly have an easy life. More often that not, Murphy dealt him deuces rather than aces, and it was such that he learned to roll with it. Every so often, he'd get lucky…but not often enough to really overcome the negatives.

When the distilled water, high beyond it's boiling point, hit the ground, it caused a chain reaction. First, it did make the snow and ice go away, but with more of a _fwoom_ than just simple melting. Secondly, the dramatic shift from cold to hot cracked not only the hubcab on the tire of Joel's jeep, but also the asphalt beneath and around it. Thirdly, what remained in-tact of the snow and ice sprayed everywhere. Frank, Joel, and Clay were all attacked, and it was then that Clay really realized something was wrong.

The water was still hot – boiling hot, in fact – and it remained so as it flew with the ice and snow and hit the bystanders. Clay winced and clenched his teeth at the pain that shot through his body upon being hit in the hands and neck. Stumbling backwards, his foot made contact with an ice patch, sending him – and the thermos still full of the water – flying.

Luckily, the thermos and its contents didn't hit him – nor did it hit Frank (not that he cared) or Joel (oh, how he kinda wished). No, instead, it hit the innocent passer-by that was Mike Nelson.

A collective gasp from the student body was heard as Nelson was splattered, causing him to immediately drop his bags and collapse to his knees. Clay had fallen at just the right place – from his peripheral vision, he noticed the blonde clutching the side of his face, ready to scream in pain but holding it in by instead grinding his teeth. Suddenly, the agony turned to rage as his eyes – normally bright and cheery – were a murderous, flat green…and fixated on him.

"FORRESTER!" Mike shouted, scrambling towards Clay, grabbing his ponytail, and dragging him up as he managed to stumble onto his own two feet. "WHAT THE HELL?!"

"Look, Nelson, I –"

It was there that Mike Nelson broke his image and shattered the perceptions of those who knew him. The gentle giant of a boy threw out a punch, landing it square to the side of Clay's head, breaking his glasses once more. Another blow – this one to the nose – now added red to the mix of white and grey on the ground.

"Nel – NELSON!" Clay tensed up before lashing back, ripping Mike's grip from his jacket with his left hand and punching him – on his burn – with the right. He fell back down to his knees, letting out a single screech at the pain that once again rang out. Clay stumbled, attempting to wipe the blood dripping from his nose, but to little success.

"What's your deal, Forrester," Joel murmured suddenly, taking a step forward from his car. "You break my car, now you break Nelson?"

"Broke mah nosb," Clay sputtered out against the blood. "Ib's only fair."

"You know…I've been meaning to do this for a long time, but just never had the opportunity to do it." Joel sighed, cracking his neck to the left and to the right, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a match. "Seeing as how all four of us are going to be screwed, I might as well do it anyways."

Suddenly, Joel lunged forward before sweeping out his right leg and shifting his weight down and to the left. Frank, however, saw what was coming and intercepted the blow – well, intercepted it by means of getting it himself. Another splotch of red, this one a bit more purple than the other, joined the white and grey on the ground.

The inventor was shocked, to say the least, and for once his emotion clearly showed. The look only intensified when the lackey charged forward, slamming him into the car door and whamming his forehead with – of all things – a headbutt.

"Fr – Frank!" Clay called out, reaching his blood-stained hand out. He was clearly surprised by the defense (and offense) of the boy…but was even more surprised when he felt another blow to his head and his already blurred vision completely shot away.

* * *

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	3. Your Punishment

Heads Up: I like to call this the "say hello to the plot" chapter – or in the very least, the overarching theme.

Thanks for reading this far!

* * *

When Clay woke up, he was slumped down in a chair, staring at a faded blue carpet. He blinked, his eyelids heavy and stiff, attempting to observe his surroundings before settling into panic. Without his glasses, though, he vision was horribly blurred and distorted, but he was able to make out some vague shapes.

From the colors on his left, he figured it was Frank – the mop of white, the splodge of pink, then the swatch of black…His right took a bit more figuring out, but…judging by the height and the bushel of blonde, it was Mike. Clay blinked again, his sight sharpening slightly, before lifting his head up.

"Hey…you're alive," Frank said weakly, lifting up a green shape in his blob of a hand. "Um…here's your glasses, uh…You can see out of one of the lenses, at least…"

"Thanks," Clay mumbled, blindly reaching his hand out to take them. Upon balancing them on his face, half the world became much sharper, the other half…cracked and angled. He inspected his hands, noticing his palm wrapped in band-aids, and felt a pull when he tried to adjust his neck. More bandages, it seemed.

But if damage by the water was what Clay was interested in, he need only steal a glance to the right, where Mike sat, sullen and…ashamed. A line of cotton squares and medical tape ran down his face, wrapped around his jaw and continued along his neck. There was a bruise forming as well along with the stray burn marks, swelling up his cheek.

Even though he didn't like him, Clay couldn't help but feel…terrible. It was the way he sat, blank and soulless, that made him uneasy. "Nel…"

"…Just…be quiet Forrester…" he murmured, still staring straight ahead.

With a defeated sigh, Clay leaned back into the seat, staring down the row of chairs and looking at Joel, who had the back of his head resting against the wall, his eyes closed. Two bandaids were strapped over the right side of his temple, a patch on his neck, and the ribboned straps of gauze wrapped around his hands.

"…Wonder what were in for," he muttered suddenly, opening his eyes. "You guys ever hear stories about our madam principal?"

That queasy feeling returned to Clay's stomach.

"I heard she gives weird punishments," Frank offered, leaning forward to look at Joel. "Like, this one time…I heard she took this group – the ones that spray-painted on the gym walls? – she put them in the auditorium, set up the projector, and had 'em watch a B-grade movie."

Mike snorted. "What kind of punishment is that?"

Frank shrugged. "I heard it was 'Monster A-Go-Go', which is this…movie where…See, it was a movie that was made, then dropped due to the budget running out, and then picked up again with a entirely different cast and then they did a mind-screw on the audience by saying there WAS no monster…"

Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to make sure the lackey saw it. "How do you know so much about it? That spray-paint thing was when we were in middle school."

"I…like movies…" He seemed just a tad bit embarrassed about revealing this fact, twiddling his thumbs together. "Any movie of any sorts, especially the old ones…They're – they're cool! It's a lost art, I swear –"

"Okay okay, that's fine," Mike cut in, still having not moved in his seat. "I heard she once made some kid clean the bathrooms…with his tongue."

"Yeah right, like that actually happened," Frank scoffed, waving his hand. "No, I hear her punishments tend to be more on the weird side – like the movie thing."

"Eh…I seem to remember her forcing some kids to get the vending machines to run on potatoes," Joel said, sticking out his upper lip in thought. "And they weren't…well, they weren't like Dr. F here…"

Clay snapped out of his silent trance at the mentioning of his nickname. "Don't call me that," he moaned, slumping his head down.

"What, don't like your _genius_ being acknowledged?" Mike sneered, his eyes shifting down to the prodigy. "I seem to recall that if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be messed up like this." But as soon as he spoke those words, his expression softened and instantly became regretful. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and resumed his staring at the principal's desk.

"I don't like it," Clay muttered, looking up. "You think I _like_ being singled out?"

"Then why do you try?" Joel wondered breezily, scratching around his forehead bandaids.

Clay stared at him. "Are you kidding?" he asked incredulously. "I don't try because I want to. I try because it's just…who I am. It's my default setting."

"It means you're ambitious and want to stand out."

"No…I just do what I do." He smirked, Joel looking at him oddly before a washed-out smile crawled onto his face.

"Nice…"

The door to the office suddenly bursting open snapped any hopes of continued mindless conversing. In stepped the principal…madam principal, as Joel had called her, wearing a sharp green pantsuit, her blonde hair wrapped tightly in a bun on her head. Bright red lipstick blared out against her ivory skin, her blazing blue eyes filled with deviousness as she took her seat and stared at the four boys.

"Joel Robinson," she started, staring directly at the inventor. His eyes widened and he straightened up in his chair, suddenly worried at the grim reality he was facing. "Michael Nelson," she continued, shifting her eyes to the right and at the blonde, who swallowed hard. "…Clayton Forrester," she said with a slight hiss. He stared at her coldly, his gaze unwavering. "And…Frank." (When she looked away, he raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'Just Frank?')

"As you are undoubtedly aware, I am Pearl Forrester, your principal…And you are here because you decided to be brutes in the parking lot. Care to explain yourselves?"

There was silence until Joel raised his hand slightly. "It was…We were out in the lot and…Forrester was –" He stopped, eyes slowly opening to their full width, staring at the principal and than at Clayton. "Wait, you…Forrester?"

"If I may complete your thought, Robinson? Yes, I am Clayton's mother, but I can assure you…that will not hinder my judgment on you boys." The corners of her mouth curled devilishly, sending chills throughout the four. "Please continue."

"Y-yeah, he…was showing me this concoction he had. I guess it was some sort of super-heated water. He…splashed it on the snow around the rear tire of my jeep, and it…sprayed all over the place. Me, Frank, and Forrester got hit…Then he…he fell backwards, and the thermos with his – stuff – slipped out his hand…The water hit Nelson, and he fell to the ground…then he –"

"- I lost it," Mike cut in, doing his best to clench his hands into a fist. "I…was…so angry and in such pain that I lost control and…punched For – Clayton……One hit broke his glasses, the other his…nose…Then he…Then he punched me right back, on my burn…"

"Then Robinson went to kick Clayton," Frank offered up next. "But I…err, intercepted that…and then I slammed him into his car door and…gave him a headbutt…He got knocked out, and I turned around and saw Nelson slam his forearm into Clay's head."

"And that's when you finally got an intervention." Pearl sighed, leaning back in her chair, hands intertwined. "Such violence…you boys can't ever talk out issues, can you?"

They didn't bother responding. Nothing they said was going to be good enough, and anything they said was going to make them look like idiots.

"What's done is done. Now there's just the issue of your punishments. Now…for each of you, suspension won't look good on college transcripts, and seeing as how you're all seniors…you see where this going. Not to mention that suspension for you, Nelson, would mean getting kicked off the basketball team, which essentially translates to them losing a key player…"

Mike grimaced, closing his eyes and letting out a quiet and bitter sigh. Clay stole a glance at him and couldn't help but wonder…Nelson knew the consequences of what would happen if he was to do something of this nature, and he was normally so calm and level-headed. How much of his anger was really just pent-up frustrations? How much did he really keep inside of him?

"As you are all first-time offenders – squeaky clean records with not even a simple 'sent down to have a talk' offense on you – I'm going to cut you a deal." Pearl's eyes suddenly took on a menacing quality that played well with the smirk on her face. "From now until I decree it so, you four will have to carry out everything I tell you to do. Now, this isn't going to be easy work, like making coffee or running off copies – no, this is going to be _work_. After I feel you have fulfilled your debt, I will release you from service, and this will just be another unpleasant memory in your lives."

She didn't even have to ask what they thought.

* * *

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	4. Not Quite Expected

Heads Up: I've got no excuses to make this time around. Still, thanks for reading!

* * *

It was due to those words that Clay found himself standing outside the janitor's office Friday afternoon. School had let out just moments before, leaving the hallways a crowded, noisy mess. This particular area was surrounded by the lockers of freshmen – most of whom took one glance at him and shirked away.

It also didn't help that the band room was located just five feet away, meaning a wave of various noises and conversations that didn't make much sense to the science prodigy. As the students were being released, he caught snippets of random tales.

" – thank God it's just another semester –"  
" – weekend, alright! –"

"– we've going to go to the mall tonight, wanna come? –"

"– oh c'mon, he's cute –"

"– in a dorky kinda way –"

" – you think Mike's gonna be okay?"

Clay perked up and glanced over to the band room doors. The members were petering down, so he decided so steal a glance in. A few people were standing around in the middle of the room, conversing to one another, while one rather tall kid was throwing a folder into his backpack.

The bandaged hand gave it all away.

So it was true. Mike Nelson, star of the basketball team and thus a certifiable jock, did in fact play piano. The grin on his face when he turned to talk to some girl – kinda short, with even shorter brown hair – showed that he wasn't one of those kids forced into band. He did it because he wanted to.

That grin, however, faltered when he looked at the doors and laid eyes on Clay. He smirked before looking over his shoulder and deciding to enter the sacred grounds that were the band room.

"Hey there Nelson," he greeted, giving a short jerk of a wave. "You ready?"

"It's Dr. F," the short girl intervened, an oddly amused expression on her face. Looking around, she added, "Have you ever been in the band room, science wonder?"

Clay followed her eyes, taking in the odd sights and smells of the room. There were the random stains on the carpet, posters on the walls, trophies on the back cabinets, stacks of chairs in one corner and rows of music stands next to them…a multi-thousand dollar sound system hanging in the corners and, currently, some Christmas lights strewn about the chalkboard. "No, I don't think I have…recently." He returned his gaze to the group before him (Nelson, the short girl, and another girl, her hair in a braided ponytail) before shifting his gaze to the crisp black piano behind them.

"Is that yours, Nelson?" he asked, noticing the tall boy resting his elbow on the top. Upon being noticed, he jumped, drawing his arm to his side.

"Y-yeah…"

"Mike's got mad piano skills," the ponytailed girl said. "Like, freakin' amazing."

"Eh – n-no, I'm not…."

"Oh c'mon." The short-haired girl turned to Clay. "He's being a doof. Mad skills, man, mad skills."

"Right…" Clay craned his neck to look at the clock on the wall behind his shoulder. "Anyways Nelson…we better get out there…less…less mother…" He winced upon speaking the last few words. Mike took notice, a hint of a smirk on his face, before lifting up his backpack. He turned to the two girls as Clay walked out the door. "So yeah – uh, see ya on Monday. Uhh…"

"Hope you heal up fast, Mike," the ponytailed girl said, unconsciously touching her left cheek.

"Yeah, we need your roast-face to survive, at least until contest." The short-haired girl grinned before reaching up and punching his shoulder. (The height different was rather amazing – it was at times like this that Nelson's stature really became apparent.)

"…So what was up with that?" Clay couldn't help but ask as the two exited the music room and went back to hanging by the janitor's office.

"What? Me and Ann and Katherine were talking about…" His voice suddenly became quiet. "About pep band, and they were asking me how I would manage to do stuff, 'cause I'm in basketball and all…"

"That isn't what I meant," the prodigy replied, annoyed. He regained his composure, though, when he noticed Mike inched his head away. If he was going to pry out information – and make this experience any more bearable – he couldn't be having Nelson more pissed off at him than he already was. (Truth be told, Clay was on edge with the jock himself – for the love of _God_, he had broken his nose just _four days_ earlier.)

"Well…what _did_ you mean?"

"Those girls," Clay said, his lips curling slyly. "Especially that one – you know, the short one. What was _that_ all about?"

"Ehhh?"

Bingo…

"That short girl. And you. Thought you were single."

"I – I am. I'm not dating anyone." The blonde began to make a motion to scratch at the bandaids on his neck, but suddenly remembered and was able to restrain himself. "Like I said, we were talking about pep band."

Clay snorted, a stray wisp of his hair floating upwards as a result. "Suuuure…I dunno, she seemed kinda cute." He stroked his chin in thought (making a mental note to shave soon) before continuing. "Both of them were…in different ways though…Y'know?"

"Yeah…Agh!" Mike bolted forward from the wall, pointing an accusing finger at Clay. "What are you trying to pull, Forrester?! Don't you try any crap on me!" The sudden action of the jock, coupled with his height and physique, created a stir in the surrounding student body that echoed in a ripple effect.

"What is it, Nelson?" Clay asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I'm not doing anything. I'm a scientist, remember? I make observations and report my data – and I'm just telling you what I saw and thought."

The expression on Mike's face faltered as he lowered his arm. "So you…really think that, huh? You're not just messing with me?"

He shrugged. "Eh, what can I say. I don't know them. I hang around in the science wing, remember? It's the entire reason your face is messed up the way it is." As soon as he spoke those words, he cringed. "Open mouth insert foot…"

"Yeah, try and abide by that," Mike spat, bitter. "This still hurts like hell, and I don't think it's going to stop being a bitch until February. _Thanks._"

"Look," Clay snapped with a huff. "I didn't mean for it to happen. You think I _wanted_ to slip on ice, get bruised up, get you hurt and, as a result, get my nose broken? Not a goddamn _chance._"

"…Okay. Okay fine." Mike threw his hands to his side, clearly annoyed, before turning to Clay. "Look. I'm sorry I broke your nose. But I was pissed off!"

"I get it, alright? Do you think I _don't_ get it? I'd be just as – no, I know I would be much worse if somebody did what I did to you. I guess I…got off pretty lightly. And I'm…I…"

For such a simple word, it was incredibly difficult to say. It should've been easy. The act of apologizing, for being regretful of something that one did or said…it was easy for most…but not for all. Clay struggled to bring the syllables to his throat, pained at getting them on his tongue, and nearly died upon speaking them.

"I - I'm sorry."

Mike seemed taken aback, his eyebrows raised, his expression clueless. "You're…sorry? Am I hearing this right? Clayton Forrester is actually _apologizing_ for something?" He was truly in disbelief, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair, scratching the back of his head. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that. Like…woah…"

It took surprisingly little for Clay to not respond angrily. He sighed and closed his eyes before responding. "Yeah, revel in it Nelson, 'cause I don't think you're going to hear it again."

Mike smirked, hitching his backpack further up his shoulder. "I'm going to remember this for a long time…and then use it on you whenever I get the chance."

"If you get the chance," Clay muttered as Frank and Joel walked up to the two, both of them less than thrilled about their future task.

"Afternoon," Frank greeted glumly before his eyes darted to the doors of the janitors' office. "So what are we…doing?"

"Cleaning bathrooms with our tongues," Joel couldn't help but murmur, to which Mike shot him a look that screamed 'shut up or I'll tear your throat out and kick you in the ear'.

The four sat in silence as the last of the locker doors slammed shut, their last threads of normalcy slipping off and down the hallways. The simple blue door, the paint chipped in a few spots, the handle worn down from years of abuse, stood plainly in front of them…nothing odd or unusual about it.

Then it opened.

"HeLLo cHiLdReN," an odd voice said to them before its body was revealed. It was the janitor – the head janitor, if that meant anything – named Torgo. He walked with an odd twitch in his knees, using the top head of a broom to help him along.

The quad was speechless…and maybe just a bit terrified.

"I wAs ToLd ThAt I wOuLd Be GeTtInG sOmE hElPeRs," he said, stumbling forward a few paces to come fully into the light of the hallway. "I dIdN't KnOw It WoUlD bE yOu FoUr…"

"…Us…four…?" Frank managed to speak. The other three were rather impressed, but didn't have the moment nor ability to congratulate like him on it.

"I kEeP tRaCk Of ThE tHiNgS yOu StUdEnTs Do," Torgo replied, taking a brief look at each of them. "I cLeAnEd Up ThE pArKiNg LoT aFtEr YoUr LitTlE sPaT," he continued, turning around and heading back into the closet. With little else to do, the boys stole brief glances at one another before following after him.

* * *

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	5. Clean Up

Heads Up: Still no excuses. I'm on a roll, huh? As always, thanks for reading!

* * *

The room was housed in nothing but concrete, stacked to the ceiling with buckets, crates, brooms, mops, bags of salt and sawdust, and a yellow cabinet clearly labeled "FLAMMABLE". Clay's eyebrows perked upon laying sight on the sign, several ideas formulating in his head at once. Flammable substances…oh, oh those were fun. The fact that they were so _dangerous_ was what made them fun.

"At a certain point we have to stop and just, you know, blow shit up," he mumbled quietly to himself. "Never truer words, Mister Hyneman…"

The clanging of plastic buckets snapped Clay back to the situation at hand. Torgo had fished out four of them with his broom before swinging it towards the quad. There was a brief pause before Frank once again took the brave initiative and slipped them off, turning around to hand one to each of the boys.

"FoR tOdAy, YoU'rE tO cLeAn ThE cErAmIcS rOoM," Torgo said, using the broom handle to tap at a floorplan of the high school taped to the wall. The ceramics room was on the complete opposite end of the building from where they were – which, although the school was small, was still annoying. A collective sigh was released, though seemingly ignored as the janitor continued on. "YoU'lL hAvE tO tAkE sOmE tHiNgS wItH yOu…" He tapped the flammable cabinet and, with what could've only been a mastered skill, unhinged the doors with the broom handle. "…CaN yOu GeT tHe TuRpEnOiD?" he asked, to which there was a moment's pause before Mike stepped forward, hopping over a pipe.

"Turpenoid…" He withdrew a metallic, rectangular box and turned to the janitor, displaying it in front of his face to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. "This?"

"ThAt'S tHe StUfF. NoW gO dOwN tO tHe ArT wInG aNd RePoRt BaCk WhEn YoU'rE dOnE." Torgo proceeded to swing out the broom handle and push a mop and bucket on wheels towards him. "I'lL bE iN tHe GyM iF yOu NeEd Me."

And he left.

"…Does anybody know what just happened?" Frank asked, peering at the other three with a confused look clearly written on his face.

"Creepy janitor told us to go clean the ceramics room," Clay responded, swinging the bucket from its handle around his wrist. "And standing around isn't going to solve anything."

There was a somewhat agitated silence as they filed out of the room, rags thrown into the buckets, Mike lugging the turpenoid in his right hand (the one least afflicted). As they wound their way through the hallways, Clay couldn't help but chuckle at the situation.

"Somethin' funny, Forrester?" Joel asked, now having slipped the bucket onto his head and stuck his hands in the pouch of his hoodie.

"Besides your face, Robinson? Yes." Clay looked forward, not really wanting to see Joel's reaction to the remark. "I find it odd...out of everyone in this school, I'm stuck in punishment with _you_ guys."

"I can say the same thing, you know," Mike said, snorting, sending stray wisps of hair flying. "Nothing against you two, but…Forrester, you don't have the best track record with me."

"I acknowledge and accept that," Clay replied with a shrug. "Can't please everyone."

"Yeah, but you don't exactly please _anyone_," the jock retorted. "You're one…lonely, lonely person."

"Hey guys," Frank cut in, as if completely oblivious to the rather angry nature of the conversation, "Y'know that song, Owner of a Lonely Heart? I've always wondered, what about the owner of a pie? Or a split-level? I mean, how do they stack up?"

The three stared at him, their looks clearly saying 'are you out of your mind you dolt?' Mike, however, had a response.

"I don't think it's up to Yes to tell us how they stack up…they're just telling us about the owner of a lonely heart because…that's what the song is about…"

"Yeah, but why leave us hanging like that?"

"'cause they have two to five minutes to tell a story?" Joel mused. "Then the song gets cut and edited for radio, and then there's two versions…which makes you buy more…Huh. In that case, it would've been more profitable for them _to_ answer those questions. Good thinking Frank…"

Mike and Clay looked at one another, eyebrows raised, but said nothing. They had reached their destination – the art wing, housing the three different labs (photography, 2D, and 3D). The 3D room was open, beckoning for them to come in.

Inside, the desks were covered in splashes of glue and paint, with tape and wires scattered about in random places. Mike dropped the turpenoid to the ground, both as means of getting rid of it and as showing his disbelief of the situation at hand.

"I didn't think it would be this bad," he mumbled, noting how newspaper was completely caked and pasted to a few of the tables. He scratched at the one nearest to him, groaning at how only a few scraps flaked up.

"Might as well get started," Joel grunted, leaning down and opening up the turpenoid. He poured some into his bucket before setting off for the opposite corner of the room, rag at the ready.

The other three followed suit, though Clay had some thoughts formulating in his mind. If he could just get his hands on what he had been working on in the chem labs…Well, it hadn't been tested yet, so perhaps it was better that he didn't use his latest experiment. Looking up and laying eyes on the various bandages on them reminded him of that.

They worked quietly and sullenly, scrubbing hard at the desks while trying not too hard of what else they could be doing on this Friday afternoon. After several trips to the turpenoid can and a followed washdown with many pumps of soap and water (to get rid of the odd funk), they were finished (and happy, but didn't show it very well).

Mike shook his right hand, which had been shriveled to a prune. His left was stuck firmly in his jeans pocke, it still being bandaged up and had been saved the task of cleaning. "Well…that's done. Good God." He sighed before stealing a glance at the clock. "Four-thirty…"

Franks was rubbing his fingertips together, curious to the odd sense of touch that had come over them due to the chemical contact. "Kinda funky," he mumbled before looking up at the other three. "So…back to the janitor's closet?"

Without another word, they did just that.

---

At 4:45, the boys found themselves outside in that fateful parking lot, bundled up against the harsh winter winds and stray piles of snow that drifted along the asphalt. As for why they were all here? Well…

Joel's Jeep was in the midst of repairs, Mike wasn't allowed to drive until his hand was fully healed, and Clay simply had his keys taken away. Frank had somehow lucked out and was the solo driver amongst the group and, with a simple 1-2-3 conning, he had agreed to give them lifts home. In the end, it worked out for all of them…even if it wasn't the most pleasant prospect.

"…Frank."

"Yeah?"

"Just…_how_ are we supposed to fit in there?"

They were staring at a black, two-door Ford Focus, its sides streaked in dirt and salt. Frank was stooping into the driver's side seat, popping the lever and sliding it forward to allow access to the back bench.

"Like this. See? You can fit back here."

"Uh…can I call shotgun?" Mike asked, raising his hand slightly. Clay and Joel glanced at him before stopping and full-on staring.

"Nelson…why do you have goggles on your head?"

For indeed, a pair of black goggles with square blue lenses was covering the tall boy's eyes, going rather well with the blue jacket and green scarf he donned alongside them. He looked at them before shrugging. " 'cause I own them? What's the big deal, they're good for being out in the snow."

Joel tugged at his green knit cap, pulling it further down and over his ears. "I guess…." He then glanced at Clay before mouthing, "Oookaaaay…"

"Um, shotgun, well…" Frank let out a nervous chuckle. "Eh, well…it's…"

Mike peered into the passenger side window before balking. "Frank, what is all this stuff?! There's…boxes and soda cans and…is that a sandwich? What's with all the cans of soup? And I think you've got about three months of overdue DVDs in here…"

"No, those are mine and – oh. Well…I have…lots of stuff in my car…"

"Obviously."

"Yeah…Uh…I guess…"

And that's how Mike, Clay, and Joel ended up crammed in the back seat. They sat in the order of whose house was closer on the route – so Joel was nearest the driver's door, Clay in the middle, and Mike on the right. It wasn't exactly the best of circumstances, particularly for the prodigy…afterall, he was in-between the two people he had the most issues with – one he hated, and one he was afraid would snap and break his face again.

"You guys want soda?" Frank offered at the stop sign from the parking lot. "I've got Coke if you want any." He leaned over the passenger's seat and, after shoving some papers and boxes to the ground, produced a red can.

"…Sure, why not," Mike said, reaching his hand around the headrest and taking the can. He propped it in his left hand, holding it arms length, and cracked the tab open.

Either Frank had shaken the can earlier or it was just packaged that way, but the carbonated beverage was soon sputtering over the three in the back. Mike managed to get away with just wet hands and pants, Clay a little less since he got nailed in the face, but Joel seemed to have gotten it worse due to the trajectory. Every part from his hat on down was hit, and he stared curiously at his hand – which was dripping in cola – before looking at Mike and raising his eyebrows.

"Oh…it's _on_," he said, unlatching his seatbelt, lunging forward, and grabbing a can from the case. Mike was bewildered, having now taken to sipping from the can, but soon realized something was up when the inventor began to vigorously shake his can.

"Hey, what are you doing back there?" Frank asked, glancing into the rear-view mirror. "You mess anything up and –"

"Don't worry, we're good," Joel responded before aiming the can and opening the tab. Clay pressed himself into the back of the seat, but that seemed to do little as he was soon covered in soda. Mike had been hit worse, but some last-second thinking had prompted him to haphazardly shove his goggles down over his eyes.

"See?! They ARE handy!" he defended before pulling them back onto his hair. "Now can I drink in peace?"

"…Is there anything _left_?" Clay sputtered against some cola that was dripping down his nose. There came no answer as the boys flanking his sides quietly chugged down their cans, staring out their windows as they drove past snow-filled corn fields. The ride was silent, save for the occasional coughs and sniffs made by the passengers and the clicking of the car's turn signals.

After about ten minutes, they turned into a neighborhood – one that Clay was surprised to find was his own. If Joel was the first person off…that meant he lived near-by him. _Great._

"Hey, Joel, can you give me some turn-by-turns here?"

"Oh, yeah, uh…take a left here…" The three in the back lurched towards the left, ramming into each other's shoulders while they did so. "…And right there, the house with the basketball hoop…"

The house was…normal-looking. It was a standard, two-story, aluminum sided structure, light grey in color. Two younger children – hard to tell their age – were playing in the front yard, dressed head to toe in snow gear and attempting to construct a snowman. The only really slight deviation from normalcy was the three-car garage, but even that was so common that it didn't matter much.

From the front door stepped out a comely-looking woman, somewhere in her middle ages, wearing speckled brown hair in a chin-length bob. When Joel crawled out from the backseat, she rushed towards the car, perhaps a bit too happy to see her son that had just come from cleaning the art room as punishment.

"Joel, you're home, thank goodness. Why didn't you call?! Young man, you have a cell phone for a reason…"

"I…I did Mom…" he murmured, embarrassed as he pulled his backpack from the trunk. "I mean, I called, but nobody answered."

"Oh, that was – ohhhh!" She smiled suddenly, glancing back at the two children. "Jim and Liz needed help on their snowman…guess you called then…"

"Yeah…Anyways, uh, thanks for the ride Fra –"

"Wait, Joel honey! Are these your friends?"

Clay, despite being in the backseat, could hear every word, and nearly felt his jaw drop when he heard her say that. _Friends?_ With _Robinson?_ What in the world was this woman thinking? …Well, if she were anything like her son, and if the rumors were true…than that could mean a variety of things…

"Errrrr, well, no…not…"

"Oh come on! I know I'm your mother and you're a grouchy old teenager now, but you never have anybody over…What was your name? Frank?"

"Uh – yes ma'am…"

"And you two…" She peered into the car, somewhat surprised and amused to see the two crammed into the back seat. "You're…?"

"Mike Nelson…" he replied, lowering the soda can out of sight.

"Clayton Forrester – er, Clay," he responded, somewhat nervous at the prospect of being stared down by his enemy's mother. She looked nice, but if one thing had proven correct in his life, it was that looks were so more deceptive than they should've been. Hell, it was a rule he applied to himself.

"Why don't you boys come in? We're having a nice pork roast for dinner, and we always have so much leftover…Joel, be nice to your friends!"

The inventor just stared at them, and they simply gawked right back.

* * *

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	6. Meet the Robinsons

Heads Up: This is the longest chapter yet, as it was originally written in two parts that just fit together rather than having any clear break-up. 'course, "longest" here means very little, but in comparison to the other chapters…

Thanks for reading!

* * *

The inside of the Robinson household was just as normal as the outside. As Joel followed his mother into the kitchen, the remaining three hung out in the entrance, attempting to stay crammed on the rug. Whether they were trying to make sure their shoes were extra dry or were just too terrified to move, Mrs. Robinson appeared perplexed when she returned, her son in tow.

"You boys alright?" she asked, to which they snapped out of their fear and leapt off the mat. "Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes…Joel, why don't you boys go down to your room – play the Wii or something."

"Uh...sure Mom…Come on guys." The inventor made an awkward gesture for the trio to follow him, which they did, down the hallway and ending up in the kitchen. A table, made for six people, stood in front of them, cluttered with letters, magazines, and binders, two backpacks sitting in chairs. Mrs. Robinson waved them off. "We never eat in the kitchen," she said as the four boys wound around her and towards the door that hung near the stove at the other side of the room.

"Uh…huh," Mike said in an attempt to be polite as Joel opened the door. A piece of paper was taped to it, reading _'_Joel's Dungeon' in crude letters drawn in red crayon. An alternating checkerboard pattern composed the background, a yellow stripe at the top.

"Liz made that," Joel murmured, embarrassed as Clay and Frank stared at the sign, hiding amused smiles. "Like, years ago…"

"C-cute," Clay stuttered out, choking back a laugh.

"So you live in the basement?" Mike said in an attempt to shift conversation. "Get booted down here or something?"

"Kinda…" Joel flicked the light switch that sat atop the stairs before leading the way down. "I was down here so much that Dad suggested I just live down here…and I said that was a good idea…so…"

The stairs opened up to the basement halfway down, revealing an odd mish-mash of a room. Only ten feet from the bottom of the stairs sat an old couch, two beat-up recliners, and a large television, various cords and wires hooked up to it. A cabinet was stacked full of video game and movie cases, one shelf containing various controllers for the gaming systems. A coffee table sat in front of the couch, covered in papers and various drawing tools.

Way back in the opposite corner was a series of screens, random articles of clothing slung over the top. Numerous sheets of paper had been taped to the outside, spelling out 'Joel's Corner of Doom', this time in much more legible handwriting.

"…Liz made that when I moved down here," Joel explained with a sigh. "My bed and dresser are behind the screens. Otherwise I just consider the whole basement my room…"

"So like…where do you make stuff?" Frank asked as the four spread out from the stairs. Clay suddenly took intense interest in the video game consoles while Mike opened the door in the wall next to the stairs.

"In there," Joel replied, pointing at Mike and the door. "That's the rough part. It's not very big, but it's better than carpeting. Mom would kill me if I did anything on the carpet…"

"Really…" Clay couldn't help but mutter, looking at the décor. It screamed '70s, with shaggy brown carpeting and wood panels on the wall. "I think Mother would love for me to blow up our basement if it was like this…"

"S-So would mine," Frank said, running his socks through the carpet. "Though…Y'know, I don't mind it. It's kinda nice. The kind of carpet you could collapse and fall asleep on. Good stuff."

"Hittin' the booze again?" Mike asked with a grin, closing the door he held open and making his way over to the couch. "…Oh sweet!" he exclaimed suddenly, diving across the coffee table and sweeping up a white game case from the floor. "You've got Brawl!"

Clay stared down at him before giving Mike a slight kick in the shoulder. "Mind getting up and not making a fool of yourself, Nelson?"

Mike wiggled off the coffee table, bringing papers and pens along with him, stopping just short of the television. "C'mon, this game is great. I call Pit!"

"Pit?" Clay spat, flopping into one of the recliners, slightly surprised when it sprung open and ended up him staring up Frank's nose. Without missing a beat, he continued, "Whatta cop-out character."

"Whaaat? How so?" the blonde wondered, hefting himself up and hunting for the game console. Joel alleviated the search by opening the opposite cabinet Mike had been looking in and pulling out the Wii console.

"Because when you knock Pit off the stage, he can fly right back…Pitfalls don't work on him, he can fly right back…The whole 'flying' thing is what makes him a cheap character." Clay kicked the recliner's footrest, lurching him forward and almost knocking him to the floor. "Dunno why they put him in the game, honestly….who remembers Kid Icarus besides the old-time gamers who are definitely in the minority when it comes to playing Brawl?"

"Well, _you_ know about it," Joel pointed out as he began plugging GameCube controllers into the console. "So…what does that make you?"

"They're called 'ROMs', my friend," Clay replied, a bit smugly.

"…Nerrrrrrrrd," the inventor muttered quietly, a diluted grin on his face. He suddenly turned on his heel and tossed a controller to each of the boys. "Nobody plays with the nunchuck, right?"

"Who would?" Frank asked, taking a seat on the couch and maneuvering the joystick with his thumb. "Tried it once…failed…miserably…It's so weird! Like, the D-pad is…jumping? And the buttons don't really do what you want them to do and –"

"Liz is pretty boss with the nunchuck…" Joel murmured, settling down in the remaining recliner. "Dunno how…guess it's 'cause she never really played Super Smash Brothers before we got Brawl."

"Oh come on, that's not having a childhood," Frank balked as the title screen appeared.

"She's only eight, you know…"

"…So like, how many siblings do you have?" Mike asked as the four chose their characters. "There's you and your brother and your sister…And you have an older sister, right? Erin?"

Joel looked at him oddly. "Y…yeah…How do you know about her?"

Mike rolled his eyes, punching the A button. "She was a senior in band when I was a freshman. Played the French horn, drum major during the marching season. A genius too, if I recall."

"Pretty much…She set the bar too high for the rest of us. Me and Jim and Liz have too much expected from us, even if Mom and Dad don't admit it."

"Like parents would admit that," Clay grumbled as the four-way match began. Despite furiously tapping buttons, they boys were able to continue their conversation (truly an apex of the digital age). "Father…a friggin' genius, off curing diseases…Mother, dictator of my own school…They always say for me to 'choose my own path', and variance of that crap, but I know they –"

"- Forrester, ouch, the angst," Mike cut in as he rapidly tapped the Y button to flap Pit's wings. "Chill out. I'm guessing you're going to say they want you to be a scientist, eh? Follow 'Father' and continue his work? That kind of stuff?"

"Well…yeah. You're right, Nelson. That's pretty much what they want me to do. Just be another Forrester, carry on the legacy of being a man of science, and go on to make little Forresters to do the same damn thing."

Frank momentarily cracked up at the term 'little Forresters' whilst Joel let out a snort. "S-so I'm guessing you don't have any siblings."

"Not a one."

"Sounds kinda nice," the inventor said wistfully. "Though…I dunno…I can't imagine not having them around. They're too much fun."

"Really…" Mike mumbled, sequencing his thumbs into a special-move attack. "I have a little sister and an older brother. I don't mind Eddie that much, since he's…well, he's at vo-tech…don't see him around the house much. Now Iris…Ugh."

"Iris…?" Joel asked curiously, leaning back slightly in his seat as he made Link do the same action. "…Wait wait…Iris…Iris Nelson…? That's…your sister?"

"Um, well, how many Irises do you know?"

"…One. That Jim talks about. A lot."

The game was suddenly paused (on an action shot of Gannondorf – Clay – pummeling Pit upside the head). "…THAT'S who she means she talks about Jim? Your BROTHER?!"

"I – I guess."

It happened very quickly – Mike tossed his controller in the air before springing forward, winding back, and punching Joel straight across the face, slamming the inventor into the cushions of the recliner. The seat jerked up, sending the blonde tumbling down over the armrest and to the ground.

A moment's silence followed before Mike burst up, clearly horrified. "Oh – Oh God, oh my God, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! I – I didn't mean – Oh God, Robinson, are you okay?!"

Another moment's silence came before Joel swung his head up, rubbing his cheek. "Gol_ly_ Nelson," he mumbled, setting his controller down. "Mind explaining that one?"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," Mike continued, frantic. "It's just – Iris, she…Well…I mean, Eddie was never a good older brother to me, so I…didn't want to be a crappy one to her."

"Isn't that sweet," Clay chimed, which received a violent death glare in return. It was exactly the look he had gotten seconds before getting wailed on in the parking lot just days previous, and not exactly a gaze he wanted to see again. "C'mon. It is. Must be nice to have someone you want to protect."

"…I guess," Mike replied, flopping back onto the couch. "Again, I'm sorry Robinson. I didn't…mean for that to happen. It's just, there was this one time…" He sighed, fiddling with the controller. "We were out at the mall – me and my mom and Eddie and Iris – and she wandered off at some point…I found her being picked on by some boys and she was crying and it just…It really bothered me."

"…Question," Frank interjected suddenly. "When was this and how tall were you?"

Mike started at him, eyebrow raised. "Uh…when I was twelve? And uh...five…something? How am I supposed to remember?"

"Just wonderin'…"

"Right…Anyway, that's…that's why. Now it's kind of a reaction, which is – which is a very bad thing, I know, and she kinda hates me for it…which, well, she should…"

"It's called 'anger management'," Clay said, tapping his foot impatiently as means to say 'unpause the game and let's brawl again'. "So anytime you want to punch somebody out for mentioning your sister, you should – wait, wait." He looked at Mike questionably. "…Shouldn't you be going after Jim, not Robinson?"

"…I…maybe?"

"Way to go."

From upstairs came a _thump_, followed by the sound of claws scratching the floor and a series of barks. Some muffled words were exchanged before footsteps drew close to the basement door. It creaked open, soon followed by Mrs. Robinson's voice. "Boys! Dinner!"

In a dramatic flourish, controllers were tossed in the air, bodies making their way for the stairs. Joel swept his arm from the TV power button to that of the Wii before slipping in front of the other three and looking at them sternly.

"Okay. Okay, listen. Just follow me…do what I do…and…And for the love of God, don't say anything that could in the slightest sense be taken offensively." There was a pleading look in his eyes that Clay had never seen before – in fact, he wasn't really used to Joel showing any strength of emotion. But for once…it was there in full.

"That's fine," Clay replied, brushing off the look. "Let's just eat." He walked past Joel and took the lead, climbing up the stairs. The vibrations that carried meant the other three were following – at a distance.

Opening the door, the first thing that ran past the door was a dog – a beagle – before a little girl trampled past. Clay raised an eyebrow and looked at the path they had taken, which was towards a hallway. The girl and the dog were jumping around a man in his late forties or so who was hanging up his winter jacket in a closet parallel to what Clay assumed to be the garage door. His hair was receding though not balding, a scraggily brown flecked with gray. Thin glasses sat in front of his eyes, though his dress was far less chic and modern, being a simple Oxford shirt and khakis.

"Daaaaddy!" the little girl chorused before being picked up from under her arms and spun around.

"Why hello there Elizabeth," Mr. Robinson said before placing her back on the ground. "And hello to you too, Gypsy," he said of the beagle that stood at his feet, waging her tail. He looked up and was taken aback upon laying eyes on Clay – then relaxed slightly when Joel stuck his head out.

"Hey Dad," he greeted, shimmying past Clay and into the kitchen. "I've got some…uh…Mom let my…." An uncomfortably long pause ensued. "Mom invited my friends for dinner."

"Ah, right, she mentioned that, it's just - ahh, nevermind." He looked at each of the boys, an odd, judgmental edge in his gaze. The air in the room became rather stiff until Liz pulled at her father's sleeve.

"Daaaaddy, come onnnn, it's dinner time!"

His expression brightened at the words, causing him to look down at his daughter and smile. "Why of course it is. I see Mommy went the pork route tonight…Joel, how about you show your friends to the dining room…? And then come back, I'd like to speak with you alone for a moment, if you don't mind."

"N-no, I…"

"I'll show them!" Liz's voice suddenly chirped. She hopped in her spot before springing forward and grabbing Clay's hand. "I like your glasses!" she said before dragging him out of the kitchen. In the process, he brushed his hand against the frames before stooping over (in order for her to lead him and not have _him_ pick _her_ up). Mike and Frank followed, snatching glances at Joel as they left the room.

"I wonder what…" Mike started before Liz cut him off.

"Daddy's mad at Joel," she said in a hushed tone. "He got in a fight and has those band-aids on his head." Liz craned her neck to look up at the blonde. "Hey, you've got bandages too! And – you too! And you!" She seemed excited to be pointing out all the injuries. "Wow, was there a really big fight? Did everyone get hurt?"

The trio gave each other odd glances before Frank decided to speak for them. "Actually, uh, that was…that fight? That was…between us four."

"Woooooow!" Liz stared at them, fascinated. "Really?! And now you're all here! Do boys fight when they're friends? But…but Joel never said…" Her face suddenly became confused. "Are you _really_ his friends…?"

"…I'm wondering that myself, to be honest," Clay said, a weary smile on his face as the small girl looked at him. He stole a glance where they had come from, eyebrows drawn in perplexity. "I can't help but wonder what they're talking about…"

"Oh oh!" Liz tugged at Clay's sleeve before pointing to the doorway. "If you can hide, then you can look into the toaster and see what's going on."

The scientist raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yup! We all do it whenever somebody is being yelled at."

"Hmm…" Clay took a step forward, feeling the pressure that was once grasping his hands released. A few more paces and he looked back at the group, of who were staring at him, subtle eagerness on their faces. Squatting down the corner parallel to the door, Clay compressed himself the best he could and looked up. Right next to the doorway in the kitchen on the counter was a toaster, poised at such an angle that it gave the perfect view of Mr. Robinson's face and the back of Joel's head.

"- and you were on such a good track too!" His voice was suddenly darker, a harsh bite on the syllables. "Good grades, perfect record, a future – then you blew it. And now you have them _here?_ Honestly Joel, I don't – I don't know what to think!"

"Mom invited –"

"Don't blame this on your mother!" he spat, stomping his foot on the tiled floor. "All that she does for you, and how well she's treated you despite your recklessness?"

"I wasn't _blaming_ her, Dad," Joel explained, his tone even more patient than usual. "Frank was giving us rides home, Mom was outside, she saw them, she invited them – and – I don't know! I don't know why they're here, okay? I..."

"We never had this kind of trouble with Er –"

"Don't bring up Erin!" Joel snapped, taking Clay by surprise. "I know she's perfect in every way, and I know you know it – you know, if you're so pleased with her, why did you and Mom do it three more times? Me and Jim and Liz – at least, me and Jim know it – we know that we can't compare with her. So...so…so stop…"

There were times when Joel spoke with rapid-paced brilliance, settling into a zone where he was able to convey his thoughts and feelings in sequence rather than broken apart by awkward pauses and 'uh's. He had just had one of those moments…and it had just petered out.

A long silence settled over them. Clay noticed Mr. Robinson clamping his eyes shut, exhaling deeply. He finally opened his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. "...These boys. What were their names again?"

It took a moment for Joel to respond. "The tall one is Mike – Michael Nelson. The one with the ponytail is Clay, Clayton Forrester. The guy with the white hair is Frank…Frank."

"Right…well…" Another silence. "Let's not keep your mother waiting."

Clay shot up and swung around the corner, surprised to see that Mike, Frank, and Liz had left. He explored the area a bit before finding the doorway to the dining room. Mrs. Robinson and Jim were already sitting down, with Mike, Frank, and Liz sliding into seats. Without thinking, Clay took a spot next to the small girl, who seemed rather excited by his presence. On her other side was Mike, while Frank and Jim sat opposite them. Mrs. Robinson was at the head of the table, hands folded, smiling pleasantly.

"Hello dear," she said when Mr. Robinson and Joel entered. The inventor quietly took his seat next to Jim while their father sat at the opposite head of the table, right next to Clay. In the next beat, the family had their hands clasped, heads bowed in reverence. The other three followed suit, if just a bit awkwardly.

"Bless us oh Lord, for these are gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, amen." Pause. "Eat up!"

Clay was used to strict family meals that involved waiting one's turn to be served, and only eating once Father had decided to do so. In the Robinson household, it was completely different, as everyone attacked the dish that was nearest to them. Soon, they were passed around the table, and after about a minute or two, each patron had a plate of food – varying depended on what one wanted to eat or not.

Totally different from the Forrester house.

"Jim, I wish you'd eat more vegetables," Mrs. Robinson sighed as she began to cut up the slice of roast on her plate. The younger son stuck his tongue out.

"Mom, I don't like green beans," he said. "I like broccoli and corn and potatoes, I'll eat those."

"Potatoes aren't really a vegetable," Joel murmured (though it seemed standard by this point). "They're just starch…not all that beneficial to you."

"Not true." Clay's mouth moved faster than his brain could control and suddenly he had Joel and Jim staring at him. "The…in the potato is this thing called a resistant starch that is similar to fiber, providing bulk, fights off colon cancer, improves glucose tolerance and insulin sensitivity, lowers plasma and cholesterol and triglyceride concen –"

Joel had decided to end the babble by flicking a bean across the table and straight onto Clay's forehead. Jim and Liz held back laughter while the parentals swooped in.

"Joel!" Mr. Robinson grumbled. "That is unacceptable!"

"Oh come on Dad, we…do it all the time at school."

Vaguely true. Clay was quite used to getting things thrown at him, particularly in the cafeteria. He had yet to experience a time when it wasn't meant to be an attack on him, though.

"That doesn't mean you can do it _here_, now apologize," Mrs. Robinson scolded. Joel looked up, a demented smile crossing his face, before he closed his eyes, breathed, and regained a neutral expression.

"S-sorry Forrester," he said before spearing a bean with his fork.

"You…sure know a lot about potatoes," Jim piped, which received an unintentionally harsh glance from Clay. "I – I mean…"

"It's…a thing," he mumbled in response, poking at the meat that stared back at him on his plate. "Just…the random information in my brain. See ah…in eighth grade, we had to do these projects, so I did mine about electronics and how to run them off of potatoes and, well, yeah."

"Oh oh! Did you – you had Zippe, right?"

Clay choked on the milk he had been drinking, quickly regaining his composure. "Y-yeah, why? Is he still there? The man shoulda retired a long time ago…you know, before _me_…"

"He is, and I've got 'im…so…So _you're_ Clayton Forrester, huh?" Jim seemed rather excited by this, hopping up and down slightly in his chair. "He talks about you whenever we do a project."

"'cause he _kept_ them all, if I'm not mistaken," Mike suddenly threw in as he helped himself to more of the roast. "I had him a different hour, I guess, but if was after you, Forrester, so the praises of your projects ran high…"

"You know what's hard about having him?" Jim mused, "Having him after Joel did. Man! My brother has to be in _genius inventor…_"

"Not my fault taking things apart and putting them back together in different shapes is fun."

"Yeah it is – you could _not_ do it…"

"Now Jim…" Mrs. Robinson chided. "You shouldn't be so grumpy. Afterall, where do you go where something of yours breaks?"

"…Joel," he droned in a mumbled response, picking at the roll in his hand. "But – I'm just sayin', he made Zippe expect too much from me."

"Kinda like Erin, huh?" Joel couldn't help but mumble. Clay noticed Mr. Robinson's hands tighten around his utensils, but the man said nothing as they continued on in their meal. Conversation dropped to the random tidbits of the day and askings of various dishes of food. It was relaxed and informal, with the siblings bringing up past jabs at one another or the parents remembering stories of their children in younger days. For the most part, Frank, Mike, and Clay remained silent, eating and smiling (well, Mike and Frank at least) along.

At the end of the meal, when Joel and Jim were playing butlers and taking the dishes to the kitchen, Clay felt a vibration in his jeans pocket. A second later, the ringtone began to play – a simple imitation of what a traditional phone would chime out. He pulled the cell out of his pocket, glancing, without fanfare, at the caller ID that the screen displayed. _"Home,"_ it read.

He paused for a moment before pressing the power button.

"Who was that?" Mrs. Robinson asked as Clay pocketed the mobile.

"Oh." He looked up at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Nobody important."

* * *

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	7. Awkard Middle Child

Heads Up: My first real update to the world! So yeah, here we go, more...stuff. Yeap.

As always, thanks for reading!

* * *

"See you on Monday."

"Mmm."

Clay sucked in a deep breath of the cold night air as Frank's Focus drove off into the night, Mike being the only remaining passenger. He had ignored all the calls from home and was mentally preparing himself for the verbal beat-down was to follow, especially since it was now about 11pm.

There were times when he would simply vanish from his parents' radar, and each time, he received vocal punishment.

Sometimes, though, it was the only proof he got that they were still aware of his presence. For the majority of the time, he chose not to interact with them, and the entire family kept largely to themselves. Clay lived mostly in his room or in the basement, which he had essentially laid claim to anyway. It was nothing like the Robinson abode – concrete and exposed pipes all the way, with stacks of boxes and seasonal items shoved into a crawlspace. For the most part, the basement was his laboratory, his center to experiment.

His parents didn't care. Both mother and father took his experimenting as a sign of following in the lineage footsteps. Clay, however, had different reasons. He did it for _himself_, and that was that. Being a Forrester meant nothing to him, just that he had to comply and put up with the genealogy he had inherited.

The front door was unlocked. Without fanfare, Clay slipped off his shoes on the front rug and closed the door behind him, hung his jacket on the coat hooks, and made his way upstairs, messenger bag thumping against his legs. His concern over the lack of activity in the house was broken when he heard a door open. Reaching the landing, Clay looked down the hall and noticed his father stepping into the passage, slipping his glasses over his eyes.

"Where've you been?" he asked casually, taking a few steps forward. He was thin but tall, a rather imposing figure in his own right. "You know we've been trying to call you."

"I was at Robinson's with a few other guys. We were in the basement most of the time. Guess I didn't get reception down there." He waited a beat before deciding to add, "Sorry."

There was a pause, to which the father seemed a bit confused as he digested the words. "Friends, huh? That's new."

"Yeah, I know. I wouldn't call them friends though, Father. It's more just…unfortunate happenstance."

"Right…Well, your mother is asleep, take a shower in the morning or she'll eat you alive. …And don't speak of anything of the past eight hours."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why?"

"It's…an experiment."

"…Ah. So long as I don't become a lab rat, I'll back you up."

"Spoken like a Forrester…okay, get to bed, or at least pretend to." Quietly, the elder scientist slipped back into the bedroom, taking precaution on closing the door softly. Clay stared at the door for a moment before steering a direct left right into his own room.

It was a respectable size, housing a single bed, a desk with the old family computer perched on it, a dresser with a mirror attached to it, drawers ajar, and a closet that spilled its contents onto the floor. After shutting the door, Clay dropped his bag on the ground before slipping off his jacket and t-shirt, tossing them into a heap. He rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers – striped green – before sniffing the plaid pajama pants on the ground. Still good.

After completing the transition to sleepware, Clay slid into the chair in front of his computer, but stopped his hand from waving the mouse around. What was the point of even going on? There was nothing to do and, God forbid, anyone to talk to. With a sigh, Clay leaned back in the chair, kicking his feet up against the wall. What on earth was the purpose of all this?

Tonight…for the first time in ages, he had to admit, he had _enjoyed_ himself. Sure, there was always that surge when working on a project or toying with an experiment, but this…this was different. Despite being thrown into the household of the one he despised most, he had to admit…he kinda liked it.

Mercilessly beating the virtual crap out of the others, meeting the rest of the Robinson clan, the banter between the siblings, the stories from the parents, and somehow – _somehow_…dare he say it? – forming a bond with the other three.

That was it.

What he had said to his father hadn't been a lie. He really had become…become…

"Oh God," he muttered aloud, rubbing his tired eyes and bumping his glasses in the process. He slipped them off and stared at the temple Joel had fixed earlier that week. It was seamless, with no noticeable indication that it was different…except for maybe the fact that the screw was a bit shinier than the rest. But this was it, this was proof…

He quickly folded the glasses and tossed them onto the desk, worried that if he continued holding on to them, they would start to burn in his hand (failing to remember that they had been propped on his head for the past seventeen hours). His mind wandered to something else, though – siblings.

As he said before, Clay didn't have any, being the single Forrester heir with no plans on there being any more. Mike and Joel, though, each had their own little band – two for one, three for the other – and they seemed to quite enjoy it. Clay smirked a bit as he recalled Mike punching Joel across the face after learning his-little-sister-Iris and his-little-brother-Jim were dating (or whatever the case was).

Then they both had the older siblings, but with "issues" attached to them – Eddie playing the role of crappy brother, and Erin having a reputation that left the rest of the Robinson children in her shadow. Mike's anger, however, was directed straight at his brother for neglecting him and his sister, whereas Joel's was channeled towards his parents for expecting the rest to live up to the standards set up by the first-born.

Clay stood up and took a peek out his window, staring at the streetlight that hummed in the winter night. After realizing that standing shirtless by a window in the middle of December meant catching cold, he flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, propping his hands behind his head and kicking his leg up onto his knee.

After dinner, the four had charged right back down to the basement to play more Brawl, but were followed by Jim and Liz, who seemed perfectly content with sitting and watching. Liz had crawled onto the armrest of Joel's recliner while Jim hid under the coffee table, but both were making commentary on the match.

The way Joel interacted with his little sister, however, was what really snagged Clay's attention. She was so much younger than him – a decade's difference between the two – but the inventor seemed to take it in stride. She would constantly point out the obvious things of what was going on, to which Joel would nod and agree, explaining how he did such things or making up small stories about Link and his actions.

She was ungodly cute, the littlest Robinson, and Clay especially liked her accidental sabotages she would pull - falling off the armrest, waving her hands around and consequently blocking his vision, the irresistible urge to push a button on the controller, just to name a few. But still, Joel didn't care, and would just smile and keep going whilst Pit, Gannondorf, and Kirby ransacked each other.

Mike and Joel each had a little sister that they seemed close to. Despite the former being a little annoyed with his, it didn't change the fact that he had adopted the "protective older brother" status, considering he was willing to beat the crap out of anyone who tried to hurt her. The latter seemed to take the same stance, though in a less violent way.

Liz, being eight, fell asleep at around 9pm, curled up in the small crook of the seat, her head resting on his arm. She slept soundly for about an hour before bursting awake, suddenly in tears, trembling. In an instant, she latched onto him, crying into his sweatshirt. Joel didn't even pause the game – he dropped the controller, leaving Link to stand and waver, defenseless.

"_Liz, Liz, shh,"_ he had said, one arm around her small trembling frame, the other stroking her hair. _"It's okay. It's okay."_

Clay stared hard at the ceiling, shaking his foot. What if – hypothetical speaking – what if _he_ had a younger sibling? Someone to help out, hang out, protect…what if _he_ had gotten that chance? Would he had seized it as Nelson and Robinson had?

Then again, each had an older sibling that gave them the discontent to perform such actions for their younger kin. So what if, in that instance, Clay played _that _role – the older sibling disliked by the younger. It would've actually been quite similar to how he was now to the rest of the populace.

A middle child. That's what Clay needed to be, the awkward middle child. He already fit the role rather well, being, for the most part, trying to live up to expectations he possibly couldn't succeed at. Rather than chasing after accomplishments by an older brother or sister, he was trying to match and pass his lineage, a feat that seemed largely impossible.

He wasn't destined for greatness. He wasn't going to change the world.

And that was okay.

---

Something was amiss.

Clay woke up and stared at the alarm clock that sat on the floor next to his bed. The blaring red digits declared it to be 10:16am. He should've been awake two hours ago. Why hadn't he woken up to his –

Oh snap. He had left his cell phone at Robinson's.

For some reason, Clay found it difficult to wake up to the alarm clock, probably because all he had to do to turn it off was slap the 'Snooze' button a few dozen times. He had shifted to using the alarm clock on his cell because, in order to access the 'Snooze' function, one had to maneuver through a few menus, and by that point, the brain was fully awake.

Clay flipped out of bed and took a quick look in the mirror. He always looked odd and disheveled in the morning – being half-naked with long hair scattered about didn't help any. A soft shadow brushed his jaw, though hardly noticeable unless one knew exactly what Clay's facial hair status typically was. He combed his hand through his hair before deciding enough was enough, flinging his door open, and making his way downstairs.

He hadn't even made it halfway down when the doorbell rang. The scientist paused briefly to sigh before finishing his stairwell flight and opening the front door.

"Hey is – holy God, that's more of you than I ever wanted to see."

Who was standing on his porch than Joel and Liz Robinson, the brother holding a purple leash that connected to a beagle – Gypsy, if Clay recalled correctly. Both humans were wearing jackets, hats, and scarves to protect against the cold, though the sun proved nice enough to combat some of the weather. The dog herself even wore a jacket – also purple – and seemed rather excited at seeing him again.

It suddenly clicked with Clay that he was, in fact, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. His glasses weren't even on yet, his hair out of its usual ponytail confines and reaching the middle of his back. He made a half-step backwards before deciding that seeing Robinson a bit mortified was certainly worth it.

"It's how I sleep, now what do you want?"

"Ugh, I need a brain bleaching after this…Uh, you left your cell in the basement, Mom told me to return it to you today, so…here." He handed him the green mobile, which the scientist accepted and placed on a table holding a vase of flowers. There was a pause as Clay's eyes wandered from the dog to Liz to Joel, hoping the inventor would get the message.

"…Gypsy needed a walk, and Liz wanted to come…and…Forrester, I have a question that I'd rather not ask."

Clay raised his eyebrows. "Uh…huh?"

"It's –"

Liz took command. "You're white!" she proclaimed, pointing at his stomach. Clay had to follow her finger before coming to the horrified realization that his pants had fallen a bit and were now showcasing the top of his pubic hair. In stark contrast to the brown was a streak of white, matching the one in his hair and mustache. After hurriedly pulling his pants up to his naval, he explained.

"So…I was hit by lightning in seventh grade."

"…What," Joel said, dubious.

"I was hit by lightning," Clay repeated. "True story, I don't _dye my hair_ you moron."

There was a pause where Joel and Clay just looked at each other, eyes glazed over and just staring into the distance. The trance was snapped, however, when Liz tugged on her brother's sleeve.

"Ask him!" she squeaked, excited. "Please…!"

Joel sighed. "Okay…Forrester, Liz wants to know if you…want to come on a walk with us."

Clay cocked an eyebrow. This was certainly odd. "What?"

"Gypsy needs a walk, and Liz wants you to come too." The words seemed to strain Joel, but excited Liz the more syllables he let out.

"I don't…"

Then he stopped and thought of what else he would be doing. Well, there was always the 'get yelled at by Mother' thing…then he would hide in the basement and experiment around…probably play some video games at one point or another…Eat here and there, watching some TV, maybe do homework…and sleep. That was it. Not exactly exciting…not to mention he had missed his morning routine by waking up late.

"Uhhh…okay. Sure. Give me two minutes."

He _really_ had to wonder what was going on with his life now.

* * *

Thanks to abbie normal for not only being my first review, but for writing a nice one too! It made me squee. Seriously.

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	8. Winter Stroll

Heads Up: Wooh! An update! Finally it's summer and I'm ready to go!

And, of course, I extend to you my thanks for reading this!

* * *

Jacket haphazardly zippered, scarf thrown about the neck, and gloves upon the fingers – not to mention actual clothes on – Clay found himself trudging down the sidewalk, Liz right at his side, skipping about. Joel was on her other side, hands in his pocket, the leash to the dog looped around his wrist. The three walked in silence, the plodding of their shoes (or in Liz's case, her boots) the only noises in the neighborhood. There was the occasional dog bark or the revving of an engine, but otherwise, it was a crisp silence; serene in the morning sun.

Finally, Joel spoke, though his voice was distant. "So…what's up with you Forrester?"

Clay pushed his slipping glasses up his nosebridge. "Why the question, Robinson?"

"Been irking my brain, that's what. Man…it's…" He sighed, the wisps of steam rising from his mouth. "My mom. Just…"

"I won't deny this is incredibly out of my element," Clay said, peeling the gloves off his fingers as his hands realized it was warmer than originally thought. "Although…"

"Although…?"

"…Robinson, how…how good of friends are you with Nelson and Frank?"

Joel shrugged. "Not very. Frank is just Frank…I've had a few classes with Nelson before, worked together in groups and stuff, but it's not like I hang out with him. …Care to tell me why you wanna know?"

The scientist shrugged. "Dunno. Just feels like…I'm out of the loop."

Joel snorted. "Me and Frank and Nelson get along because we're people of normal social abilities."

"…Uh-huh."

"That's really all it is. You're just an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"I said what I said…"

Clay huffed, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. "Whatever you say, Robinson…"

The inventor rolled his eyes. "You don't make it easy, y'know. People behave the way they do for a reason. We respond to how you act 'cause the way you act deserves our responses."

"The _fack_ did you just say?"

"Waxing poetic." Joel paused before stealing a glance at his little sister. "Though…Liz seems to like you…Poor child, she's been a bit messed up ever since Dad dropped her from the washing machine."

Liz, hearing her name, perked to attention and jogged in front of the two, skipping backwards to keep pace. "What what what? What about me?"

As blunt as blunt could be, Joel replied, "You and your little crush on Dr. F here."

Liz, most likely holding no knowledge of the word other than 'to smash something', just sorta shrugged. "I like Clay! He's nice!"

"Proof that she's not my sister," Joel murmured (though that was his typical speech pattern by this point). "C'mon sis, really? He's a big meanie."

"Is nooooot!" Liz opposed, jumping up and down while continuing to keep pace. "He was never mean to me!"

"Yeah see, I _am _a nice person," Clay said with a smirk, patting Liz on the shoulder and looking at Joel. "Joel's the mean one, isn't that right?"

"That's right!"

"Oh come on, don't turn my own sister against me," Joel protested, though he didn't put too much effort into it. "_That's_ mean."

"We respond to how you act 'cause the way you act deserves our responses."

"…You like stealing my lines, don't you?"

"It works and gives me dialogue."

Liz suddenly stopped moving, directly placing herself in front of Clay's path. He jerked to a halt and looked down at her curiously. "Something up, smallest-of-the-Robinsons?"

She threw her arms into the air. "Can I ride on your shoulders?"

"Liz!" Joel scolded, as if it was an automatic response. "Don't – it's –"

"But he's really tall!"

"Not a lot more than _me_…"

"I'm six-one, I'd say that's pretty tall…"

"I'm five-ten. The difference is just three inches, which could just as well be your hair." The inventor had a good point, as Clay's hair (the parts not confined in a ponytail) flew every which way, sticking straight out from his skull.

"Except not, since you obviously have to look _up_ to be eye-to-eye," Clay said with an involuntary smirk. He proceeded to stoop down onto his knees, jerking a thumb to his shoulders. "All aboard."

"Yay!" Liz kicked the excess snow from her boots before hopping onto his back and scrambling up to his shoulders, the scientist helping her along. When he stood up, she gasped before giggling. "This is way higher up than Joel ever got me!"

"Hey…"

"No denying truth, Robinson."

"…Shut up Forrester."

Gypsy barked suddenly and, much to the surprise of the trio, she was barking at them. Joel tugged on the leash before starting up again, leaving Clay to jog to catch up (and balance Liz on his shoulders, who was grinning ear to ear in delight).

"Faster faster faster!" she urged, hands clamping tight on his flyaway hair. He winced as she pulled on his hair upon being thrown back a few inches. "It really is white!" she squeaked, lifting up the segment of strands that held the permanently dyed hair.

"Told ya I wasn't lying," Clay replied, staring up. "Don't see why you didn't believe me."

"_I_ did, it's _Joel_ that didn't."

"Hey, c'mon, what the heck Liz…" Joel paused before a thought came crashing straight into his brain. "Oh, Forrester, that reminds me…"

Clay sighed, grumbling as his glasses' lens fogged up. "What is it now, Robin-sinion?"

Joel looked at him oddly before continuing. "Has to do with our punishment for causing blood and mayhem. Uh, well, Madam Principal has decided that, as payment, me, you, Frank, and Nelson have to help out the theater department because the tech crew is small this year. Not a big deal for _me_, you see, but…"

"…Oh come _on_, I am _not_ a techie. Mother has another thing coming if –"

"She says if we refuse, we won't graduate."

"…Eff."

"Yeaaah…Uh, trust me, I'm pretty sure we've got more threats such as that coming our way. Gotta say…the 'you won't graduate' threat is a very effective tool when you're a senior…"

A thought suddenly barreled into Clay's mind. "…Hey…do you know what they're doing with Nelson?"

"Whattya mean…?"

"He's a jock, isn't he? Basketball star? He's the center for the varsity team, being a big and tall lumbering dope and all."

"Huh…didn't think about it. But…I can't think the outlook is good for him. Y'know that jocks tend to be people with not the best records…What we did was worthy of suspension."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure our clean records was what made it so that Mother didn't can our sorry asses –"

"Oi, language; eight-year-old on your shoulders."

"…Oh. Right." But Liz was so off and enamored in her own world that she seemed to pay little attention to what was going on beneath her.

"But yeah…I don't think the same can apply to the sports teams. They have to keep up regulation and all…so I'm pretty sure Nelson is screwed."

"What was that about language?"

Joel ignored him. "Though really, think about it…he got the injuries the worst of all of us. He's in no shape to play anyway. I'm thinking the only reason he can do piano is 'cause it doesn't involve the risk of getting thrown to the ground and stuff."

"Mmm…Guess so."

The trio soon came upon the Robinson household, causing Gypsy to begin tugging at the end of her extended leash. Joel sighed and looked up at Liz. "Well, we're back. Get off Clay's shoulders, would ya?"

"You _are_ a meanie!" Liz swung her head down, staring upside-down at Clay. "Clay, can you be my new big brother? You won't be mean to me, will you?"

"Nah…but…I don't think I'm fit to be a big brother." Clay grabbed her waist and pulled her off, swinging her around a bit before placing her on the ground. "So as mean as he is, Robi – Joel is your brother…sorry."

"Aww…"

Clay gave her a smile (an emotion he didn't make that often) before looking up at Joel. "See you on Monday, I suppose."

"Yeap…backstage hallway, in the Dungeon if you don't mind."

"Who the what now?"

"Oh, right, you never took any theater stuff…the Dungeon is Struyk's – you know, the tech director as well as the band one? – well, it's his nickname for that random classroom behind the stage. Full of power tools as well as ceiling pipes with a garage door for an entrance, so it's appropriate."

"Right…"

"And you know what'll happen if you don't show up."

"Yeah, I'll be stuck with the juniors."

---

Monday afternoon came, and, although against his free will, Clay found himself standing outside the band room doors again. Once the wave of students had passed, he maneuvered his way inside, finding Nelson talking to the short-haired girl again, but who this time was accompanied by a tall and lanky boy with somewhat long brown hair. He stood a good two inches above the blonde and seemed to be trying to coax him into something.

"Come _on_, just give me a ride to pep band and…I'll…"

"You won't _buy_ me anything, I know that."

"Yeah, he's a hobo…"

"Shut up Iris." (The look on her face meant that the girl's name was, in fact, not Iris.) "Anyway, just – give me a ride, c'mon! It's not like I'm far out from you."

"But it's a pain…"

"How?!"

"'cause it's _you_…"

"I said shut _up_, Iris."

"If I may intrude," Clay said in a bit louder tone, catching the trio's attention. "Nelson, we have to get going."

"Forrester? What –"

"Dr. F's here again," the short-haired girl piped in. "What's up, man-about science? You getting jealous of the band?"

"Not quite. Though I have a question…uh, what's with the Christmas lights?" He jerked his thumb to indicate the strands wound around the chalkboard.

"They add festivity. And hey, it's January, not too far off from the season."

"Right…okay, well, let's go."

"Eh…I guess…Uh, Aaron – pep band, get back to me on that and try and come up with a better offer than your Kenny G. collection, okay?"

"I don't HAVE a Kenny G. collection, what the hell!"

Clay and Mike left, backpacks swung over shoulder, before heading down a hallway and preceeding down the staircase next to the gym. After a moment's silence, Mike turned to Clay and looked at him oddly.

"Okay, the hell's going on? Why'd you find me?"

"I have a question that I wanted to ask you before meeting up with the two idiots."

"Uh…well, that's a bit out of the ordinary, gotta say. What is it?"

"You and the basketball team." Mike's face immediately faltered. "Yeah…what's the deal with that? I mean – you're injured, yeah, but…"

The blonde averted his gaze. "I avoided school suspension, yeah, but…as per regulation, I was kicked off the team…"

"Permanently?"

"Pretty…pretty much." He sighed. "I can't believe I actually did it…doing so well and then I screw up. Dad was…Dad was – he wasn't mad, he was disappointed. That's it. And Mom was just kinda…upset at me for ruining everything."

"Gotta admit Nelson, I didn't know you had it in you to kill people."

"I do, I just don't exact it on _people_. Y'know, it's a good thing I live on a farm. Plenty of things to exact violence on out there."

"Yeah…you've…got quite the tackle blow."

"Hey, c'mon, you? Scrawny scientist? What the hell was the punch about, huh? That was way too epic for somebody like you."

"I call him Mr. Fisty, and be careful Nelson. Looks can be deceiving."

"Uh…huh." Through a set of double-doors they went, finding Joel and Frank hanging by the entrance to the backstage hallway, apparently having an argument over what type of fish was better to eat with Coke.

"Um, if I'm not interrupting –"

"You are, but yeah, I know. Frank, salmon is the best, and get any other silly notion out of your head. Okay noobs of tech, you are about to enter a strange and magical world of table saws, light grids, and sound boards. You are to touch neither of the last two." He led them into the hallway, pointing at a room at the end and to the right. "That is the Dungeon, where all the tools are." With a shift to the right, he added, "That's the garage door entrance to the stage. It's usually open…but yeah, its main purpose is to get the big stuff on there. And now…the auditorium itself."

Joel snickered as he led the trio into the backstage area of the auditorium. Frank was shooting his gaze about wildly, Mike seemed rather nonchalant, and Clay was simply clenching his jaw and holding firm.

"This is the domain of tech," the inventor said with an ineffectual flourish of his hand. "But they should –"

Light suddenly flooded the stage upon which they stood, blinding Clay momentarily and sending him stumbling backwards a few steps. There came a pair of laughs, one with a 'caw' quality to it, the other more of jovial type.

"Guys, stop being dumbasses," Joel called out flatly. He turned to the trio. "Crow and Tom…"

Mike blinked. "…Crow? Someone seriously named their kid _Crow_?"

"No, it's a nickname. His name is like…uh…it's really long. Named after his regular and great grandfathers, has the middle name of his father, and then an unfortunate last name that could be a name."

"...Which _is_?" Clay asked impatiently.

"Carl-Ryan-Oliver-William Theodore Roberts," came a distinctly female, yet somewhat low-pitched, voice. "Anagrammed to C-R-O-W – Crow T. Roberts."

"Gyps!" a male voice, a touch nasally, whined. The female giggled.

"Where the hell are they?" Clay grumbled, looking up at the ceiling. The lights, blinding his vision, made it difficult to see past the front of the stage.

"Catwalk, most likely," Mike replied. He paused before another question popped out. "Wait, did he say Gyps? Who names –"

"Tech crew is a treasure trove of nicknames. That's Rose…Rose Meyer, aka, Gypsy." After a pause, Joel added, "We got our dog from her family and my sister named it after her for…uh…I'm not really sure but –"

"I came _before_ the dog!" Gypsy shouted. "I want to make that clear!"

"I'd hope so, she's only like, four. It'd be like that one movie…uh…"

"Be some serious 'Benjamin Button' kinda stuff," Frank said. "…Uh, kinda." He paused. "I'm just…not going to talk now."

"Okay…Okay, well, you guys know the drill." Joel cupped his hands around his mouth. "ROLL CALL!"

"Cambot!"

"Gypsy!"

"Tom Servo!"

"CrooooOOOw!"

Mike just stared. "Cambot? Servo? Robinson, what the hell is with all these –"

"Cambot, aka, Cameron Botsley," Joel replied flatly, using his fingers as a checklist. "Runs the soundboard and does whatever video work is needed. Tom's last name is Serko. He does a lot of building and is good with machinery. Servo kinda just came from that." He paused. "I'm…I'm just Joel, by the way."

"Good to know."  


* * *

elethian: Thank you for taking the brave step and reading the story! I'm glad you like it. I actually ended up loving Dr. F (and fangirling Trace) due to this silly project and working from Clay's POV. To answer your questions (?) – Eddie was Mike's brother that appeared in "Time Chasers", whilst Iris is just a younger sister that I made up for him. :D The pubic hair thing goes off a comment Trace made about the white streaks in Forrester's hair and mustache at the ComicCon '08 panel: "There was another white mark…"

Kuriei_Foxfire: Thank you thank you thank you! It's these kinds of comments that give me motivation to get off my butt and get to writing!

James Birdsong: Huzzah! 8D

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	9. Up On The Catwalk

Heads Up: I got caught up in another story I'm writing, so this was put on the backburner for a bit. Dunno if I'll ever put that up here, it's a little embarrassing…

But as always, thank you for reading!

* * *

Clay found himself up three sets of stairs and maneuvering around the catwalk of the auditorium, being led by Crow. Despite Joel's diction of not being able to touch the lights, the rest of the crew decided help was needed in more places than building and overthrew their leader's decision. ("Occasional anarchy is good for government," Tom had reasoned.)

Crow, Tom, Rose, and Cameron were a quad of sophomores who were essentially grabbed by Struyk, the tech director, their freshmen year and dragged into the auditorium to do tech. According to Joel, this was how the man operated, and nobody really questioned it.

"Lights lights lights," Crow chimed, ducking to avoid a low-hanging pipe. A yellow caution sign had been taped to it for added safety measure. "I have a good feeling about you, Dr. F. Dunno what it is."

"Wait, how do you…ugh, nevermind."

"The nickname's renown man!" Crow turned to look back at him, a cocky smile on his face. "When a kid continuously sets off fires in the science labs, you know who it is."

"I suppose." Clay was having a hard time concentrating on speech, being immensely distracted by the get-up of the boy. His hair was bright blonde and spiked straight up, reaching a height of at least seven inches. A pair of rather large, square goggles, their lenses tinted yellow, rested on his forehead, sitting atop pale blue eyes.

His jacket was odd, to say the least, colored yellow with black stripes that ran along the inner half of the sleeves and across the chest. The sleeves, however, were open at the elbows, the section of cuff and sleeve held together by black straps and snaps – so it appeared the jacket could be modified from somewhat long-sleeved to short. Khaki shorts, adorned with pockets, took care of the lower half, and, although they appeared long and baggy, they barely hit the knees of his rather long and lanky appendages. Yet despite the odd proportions of the boy, he stood no taller than Joel – a bit shorter, in fact.

"Hey science boy, did you hear a word"

"Huh?"

Crow sighed. "Shakespearian versus Olympian lights. You know the difference?"

"Can't say I do."

"Okay…well…" Crow crouched down on the plywood pathway of the catwalk before swinging his torso out and underneath the lowest bar. Clay raised an eyebrow before crouching as well, just in time for Crow to swing up, holding thick cord in one hand and a crossbar attached to a stage light with the other.

"This – _grunt­_ – is a Shakespearian light. If you notice, we're downstage left. Shakes's are good for getting corner angles, so we use them…at the corners. Hehe." His laugh was odd, again with a birdish quality to it. "Also, they're more expensive to buy and their bulbs are expensive and we're in the arts department, meaning money tends to not come our way. So!" He swung down again, dropping the cord in the process. There was a hollow _chink_ before Crow started mumble-cursing the clamp of the light.

"So…" Clay swung his legs out over the banister, his legs dangling in the air. "You like this stuff?"

"It's different," Crow replied, still wrestling the light onto its post. "Struyk's good to us, let's _us_ do things. It wouldn't be as fun if we had to have permission to do everything." He craned his neck up, glancing at Clay with a grin. "Besides, where else would I learn all this crazy stuff?" He swooped back down, letting out another string of curses.

"You the light guy, then?"

"Eh, pretty much. Servo – uh, Tom – does most of the building but also helps out on sound. He's one of those chorus kids, but he hates to admit it. He's pretty good at it too, and man, you would not expect his voice to come out from him…agh, you piece of crap, get on the damn hook!"

"What about the other two? Rose and Cameron?"

"Gypsy and Cambot...well –"

"How'd they get those names, anyway?"

"Well, Cam's came about because, quite simply, we are lazy people. Kinda like 'mac and cheese' that way, right? Oh finally, you stupid sorry excuse for a tin can!" Crow, successful in his mission, swung up and shimmed backwards a bit before settling into place and mimicking Clay's pose. "He doesn't talk a whole lot, but he is one hell of a sound guy. His videos are nothing to sneeze at either."

"Mmm…"

"Gypsy's…man, I dunno where that came from. I think it's a family nickname or something, I have no clue."

"What does she do?"

"_Everything._ And...well geez, if we had a deity of tech, she'd be it. She just knows it all. And really, when she's not here…" Crow seemed a bit ashamed to admit the rest, "There's a bit of panic if she's not here; like, we don't know what to do sometimes. She's really the brains of our outfit."

"So then what's the point of Robinson?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Joel's a tech deity too…he's just not here as much as Gyps. He says it's 'cause of his classes and his job and stuff."

"He has a job?"

"Isn't that something you'd know?"

"Not exactly."

"Well…I think he said he works at an electronics shop in town, where he mainly refurbishes stuff. It'd explain why he can build things."

"I suppose."

Crow leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar and nestling his chin between them. "I can't believe he's graduating this year. Tech is gonna suck without him. I mean…Gyps can take his place but…y'know. He's like a big brother to us."

Clay rolled his eyes before leaning back on his hands. "So uh…what's going on right now? What thing are you getting ready for?"

"The spring musical. Auditions were in December, the show's at the end of March, and we've got to cook up a cracktastic light show and a pyramid before then."

"The hell would you need those things for?"

"Becaaaause the musical is…" Crow leaned back, spreading his arms out. "Joseph…and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. _The_ campiest musical to ever grace our stage. But – I will admit – the music is catchy."

Clay smacked his palm to his forehead. "Seriously? Aren't we a public school, isn't that kind of stuff illegal?"

"They mention the Bible like, twice, and other than that, nothing. It's more about…you know…follow your dreams and that kinda junk. Now lessee – last year, last year we did Anything Goes, that was fun." He paused before leaning over the edge and looking down at the auditorium below. "In fact…I remember that last year, Mike tried out…got the lead male role…and had to quit due to baseketball. Least…that's what he said…"

"Eh?"

"Y'know Dr. F," Crow said, now turning to face the scientist, "You're lucky. You don't belong anywhere."

"How is _that_ lucky?"

"Because nobody expects anything of you, so you can do whatever you want. As for the rest of us…we're stuck. So like…Mike…that whole 'music' side of him is hidden because nobody expects it from him."

"Why should he care?" Clay snorted. "It's your life. Do what you want."

"That's easy for you to say. You have nobody to please."

"I do – myself. I tried that 'fitting in' crap when I was a kid. I gave it up a long time ago and have been happy ever since."

"Oh really?" Crow asked slyly, a crooked smile coming onto his face. "So there's nobody to please? Nobody you…_want_ to please?"

Clay stared at him, slightly disgusted. "_What_ are you getting at?" he demanded.

"Not your parents?"

"No. So long as I get the grades, they don't care."

"Not your peers?"

"We already established that one – no."

"Not your friends?"

"I have friends?"

"Yeah – Joel and Mike and Frank."

"Tch. You're going to have to try harder than that."

"Not a girl?"

It took a moment for that one to process in his head. "N…no..."

"Aha! I've hit something! Crow has stuck black gold!" His voice suddenly shifted, sounding vaguely like Winston Churchill. "Look at it implode into the sky and – oh no, what's this?! The natives are trying to capture it for their own use?! Send in the national guard, they must be stopped for the well-being of our country - !"

"What are you doing up there?" Joel called from below. Crow snapped his head down to peer through the railing.

"We're setting up lights!" he responded, a devilish grin on his face. He proceeded to reach out and rattle a light around before loudly saying, "You see Clay, that's what you have to do!" Joel sighed.

"Hey Gypsyyyy," he shouted.

"Yeah?" her voice replied, though distant.

"Where are you honey?"

Clay stared at Crow, who shrugged. "Joel's weird."

"He is…"

"I'm in the Dungeon," she answered. "The table saw isn't working, I'm fixing it."

"Uh…well, be…be careful…"

"She can do that?" Clay murmured. Crow overheard and nodded.

"She's amazing."

"…Do you…like…_like_ her?"

Crow giggled, shaking his head. "Nah nah, no way. I _got_ me a girl. The one who's in love with our dear and beloved Gypsy is – _burr burr burr burrrrr –_ none other than little Tom Serko…"

"I'm assuming it's an unrequited love."

"Why yes, how did you know?"

Clay shrugged. "Because not only is that how teen stories work, but that's how real life works. You hardly ever get reciprocated love."

"Am I sensing bitterness?"

"No, you're sensing reality."

* * *

Nehszirah: Ohh it's true, isn't it? And yes, I'm here for the crack.

Kuriei_Foxfire: I appreciate every review you give me. ;_; I'm happy to know I have a consistent reader.

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	10. A Challenger Approaches

At 5, the tech crew disbanded, with the quad of sophomores hopping into the cars of awaiting parents. Crow and Tom, who were revealed as being cousins, piled into the same mini-van, with Rose and Cameron leaving after them. The four seniors split when it came to be known that Clay was given driving privileges back. Joel didn't even make a vague attempt to ask for a ride home – he and Mike just followed Frank to the parking lot, the three of them engaging in mild conversation.

Clay headed to his locker to pick up a book he had forgotten – something for English, with an assignment in it that needed to be done for the next day – heading up the staircase to the second floor. It was odd to be roaming the halls at this hour, something he had rarely done before. Your mother being principal was only cool when you were in grade school, mildly interesting when you were in middle school and hardly bearable when you came to be in high school. Clay always kept himself separate from her.

Two clockwise turns, a twist to the left, and a final to the right, and his locker popped open, its metal door wiggling slightly. Clay swept his eyes over the shelves before locating the object of his search, a square yellow book entitled _The Bedford Reader_. He sighed, thumbing the spine before tossing it in his open messenger bag. After closing his locker, Clay made for the right, but was immediately halted when an odd set of notes floated into his ears.

_D…G…A flat…E flat…_

It was a series of four quarter notes that just repeated, over and over again, stopping the scientist in his tracks. He looked around, seeing nobody, before peering into the perpendicular school wing.

It was the janitor, Torgo, and he appeared to be trying to fix a small boombox he had on his cart. Well, "fix" meaning "hitting". Clay was going to quietly slip away, but alas, was caught.

"HeY," the janitor called out, his voice giving him a slight brainfreeze. "FoRrEsTeR, rIgHt?"

Clay, with a bitter inward sigh, nodded. "Yeah…that's…that's me…"

"Do YoU tHiNk YoU cAn HeLp Me WiTh ThIs?" he asked, though his tone was much more beckoning then one would've thought.

"I – I dunno, I'm not very good with –" Wait wait wait. No. Now was not the time to be admitting defeat to Robinson. Well, it _never_ was the time, but now especially. Clay shook his head and made his way to the cart, staring at the device.

It was suddenly intimidating. It was old and archaic; it was something that _existed_…it was something that, if tinkered with the wrong way, would be permanently inoperable. Not only that, but there was no way into it without a tool, something which Clay lacked.

Now Robinson, he'd be ready for this. Not only would he not be intimidated – in fact, he would've embraced and probably just smiled at the challenge – but he would be prepared. There was a reason all of his pants, no matter if long or short, held numerous pockets. There was a compact screwdriver set in one, a box of staples, thumbtacks, nails, and screws in another, plus super glue, tape, and a lighter for an instant weld.

It was, quite frankly, embarrassing. Clay put his hands on the boombox, made a vague attempt to appear to be doing something, before dropping his hands to his sides and shaking his head.

"I'm…I'm sor…I apologize," he mumbled. "If hitting it isn't fixing it, I don't know what will."

Torgo didn't say anything, just flicked the device off and put his hands in his pockets. Clay turned on his heel and was about to leave before the strange voice spoke.

"ThAt'S aLrIgHt," the janitor said. Clay turned his head to look at him. "I dOn'T kNoW hOw MuCh HeLp I cAn Be BuT iF yOu NeEd To SaY sOmEtHiNg…"

"N-no…it's…it's not like…"

"SoMeThInG's BoThErInG yOu FoRrEsTeR, I CaN tElL."

"Oh really?" he couldn't help but snap. Torgo raised an eyebrow, which suddenly made Clay feel very…very odd. "Erruh…Well it's…it's uh…I mean, you know how it is to be left out?"

He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"We AlL dO, dOn'T wE?"

"Some more than other, myself especially. It's just, you know – I've always said I'm happy to not be accepted. And I am, in a sense…I mean, I have no one to please because of that. But then again…" His voice trailed off as he thought of the catwalk conversation he had with Crow.

"_Not a girl?"_

There wasn't anyone specifically Clay liked, but still, he knew that when the time came, he would have to be a much different person – he'd have to be socially adept, someone who people _could_ like. And at the rate he was going…well, he was going to fail at the one thing his parents wanted him to do.

"...Is it so wrong to want people to like you?"

The janitor rolled his eyes. "HoNeStLy? WhAt KiNd Of QuEsTiOn Is ThAt? No, Of CoUrSe NoT. We AlL wAnT tO bE lIkeD sOmEhOw."

Clay shook his head. "Right, stupid question, it's just…after being somebody for so long, how do you repair that? How do you make things normal?"

"YoU bE yOuRsElF."

"I've been doing that for a long time, and look where it's gotten me. I wouldn't say it's doing very well."

"No…YoU'rE nOt BeInG yOuRsElF. YoU'rE pUsHiNg PeOpLe AwAy FoRcEfUlLy."

There was a considerable pause before the scientist responded. "…How could you know that?"

"I dIdN't."

Clay stared before nodding, slightly dumbfounded, and proceeding back down the hallway. How in the world…?

"YoU cAn StArT bY rEtUrNiNg ThIs." Clay had to look behind him to see the janitor holding up a paperback book. He raised an eyebrow, observing that the cover was reversed. It held a bright, pastel-like illustration – whatever the case, it was very girly.

"What's that?"

"I dOn'T kNoW, bUt It BeLoNgS tO NeLsOn. I'vE sEen HiM caRrY iT aRoUnD..."

Clay backtracked and took the book, observing its cover. "Oh...it's a manga," he said, flipping the book around. He himself didn't read them, but he knew they were popular and that plenty others did. Reading the back summary made him raise an eyebrow. It was a story of a boy who liked girly things and was in love with a girl who wanted a manly-man for a boyfriend and the…wacky hijinks that ensued? It sounded incredibly stupid, but that fit Nelson.

"Eh...alright...um...bye."

The scientist bolted out of the hallway, stampeding down the steps, ran down the first floor hallway, and skidded straight into the parking lot. Frank, Joel, and Mike had already left, which was as much of a relief as it was an annoyance.

While there weren't too many farms in the area, there were enough to make it difficult to find just one. There were a few facts about the Nelson farm he had picked up from tidbits of conversation – it was fairly big and grew crops along with raising some livestock. The house sat atop a small hill that was far enough away from the road that it made the blonde complain about the distance.

The only other clue was that the farm was somewhere between Clay's own neighborhood and where Frank lived. He vaguely recalled where the latter boy lived, as he had given rides home on a couple different occasions.

Armed with that information and the very girly-looking book, Clay made his way to his car, one of few occupants of the parking lot. The track team was doing indoor practice, but most of those people were in the other lot. It was odd to see the pavement so empty.

The drive out was rather boring and relaxed until Clay passed his neighborhood entrance, thus beginning his active adventure. He was anxiously remaining aware of his surroundings, jumping at the sight of every lone driveway. There was a lot of empty land out here, being far out from the cities, with only half of them actually utilized for farmland. Snow-covered mounds of dirt filled a lot of the space, with them having been planned as housing developments that went under with the economy.

Clay suddenly screeched to a halt when he drove past a driveway. It was a semi-circle with two entrances, and in-between the two was a wooden sign that quite plainly declared "Nelson Farm and Stables". The scientist smirked, pulling into the second driveway and slowly stopping. There was a barn up near the entrance, with another one behind it, the two separated by a gravel driveway. Peeking out from behind the second barn was the house, and it definitely was a fair distance away from the road.

He debated for a few minutes as to whether or not he should get out of the car and walk the distance, drive the distance, or simply leave. But as he was mulling, there came a knock on the passenger door window.

There was a girl standing there, her upper lip protruded in annoyance, hands on her hips. Clay raised an eyebrow as she gestured towards the ground before she finally gave up and said, "Roll down your window you dope."

"_Excuse_ me?" Clay balked as he did so, narrowing his eyes. "I daresay that's one of the worst ways to greet people. Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Iris Nelson," she replied, sticking her tongue out. "And I know you – you're Forrester. Clayton or something stupid like that."

"How old are you, _Iris_?"

"Thirteen, what of it?"

"Look. I'm eighteen. I'm graduating at the end of the year. I messed up your brother's face." He paused before adding, "With _science_."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That was you? He…he just said that he got in an accident during chemistry…"

"…He's not even _in_ chemistry or any class that would cause him to be around chemicals."

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, he would…Yeah, he's pretty good at making up stuff. So why are you here? Mike's never talked about you nicely."

"Gee, thanks. The irony is that I'm returning something of his." Clay held up the book, causing Iris's eyes to widen.

"_Otomen_!" she exclaimed. "That moron, he almost lost it! And _I_ paid for this one!"

A shadow suddenly fell over her, and the next moment a pair of arms, covered in a blue jacket, draped themselves down her shoulders before a head was suddenly on top of her hair.

"Yo Sis, who you talking – to. Oh, what the hell Forrester, what now?"

"Ugh, get off me," Iris grumbled, though she didn't seem angry. Mike instead began rocking back and forth, causing her to sway with him.

"I have something that belongs to you," Clay replied, waving the book. Suddenly Mike stopped the rocking and widened his eyes, his face turning red.

"I – that's – uh – that's not…"

"Way to go losing one of them that _I_ bought! If you're going to lose one, can you lose _Lovely Complex_? _You _bought that one."

"Yeah, but _you_ read it too – oh my God, shut up Iris."

Clay raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"You know how long it takes for me to scrounge up ten dollars?"

"Uh, same time as me?"

"No! Dad lets you do more stuff than me!"

"Hey, if you were a boy, you'd be fine."

"But I'm _not_, so shut your face!"

"…Uh, Nelson, are you going to take this damn thing or not?"

Both siblings responded by snapping their attention back to Clay, but Mike was the one that reached through the window and took the book. "Th…thanks…" he mumbled, arm dropping to his side.

"What the hell is that, anyway?"

Mike suddenly took great interest in the top of Iris's forehead, rushing the words while he spoke. "It's a manga –"

"_Shoujo_ manga," Iris corrected, causing her brother's face to burn even more.

"And what's….that?"

"It's a girls' comic," the sister explained cheerfully. "Like, shounen comics are the action packed, violent, friendship-wins-all stuff. Shoujo manga has like, high school drama and romance and junk."

"_Shut up Iris…_" Mike hissed.

"…Oh." A devilish smile crawled onto Clay's face. "Really now Nelson? How interesting."

"Hey," Iris sniped, leaning into the car through the window. "Don't say anything like that. Tons of boys like it too, there's nothing wrong with it."

But the scientist kept on smiling. "I dunno about that…You're brother isn't known to be the effeminate type."

"'cause he's _not_. Geez! You'd know better if your head wasn't so far up –"

"Iris," Mike snapped, slapping his hand over her mouth. "Look, Forrester…Thanks for returning the manga. You should probably leave before my sister here snaps your neck or something."

"Nono Mike, c'mon," Iris said, batting his hand away. "Okay, so maybe that was extreme but – I have an idea. A challenge." She smirked, her expression suddenly cocky. "I want you to read one of these."

Clay raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Oh? One of these girly comics?"

"Yeap." She proceeded to snatch the book from Mike's hand, shoving it towards the scientist. "I want you to read this."

"…_That?_"

"Indeed." Iris dropped the book into the passenger seat, grinning. "Read it and then give it back to Mike."

"H-hey…"

"Shut up or I'll put your hand down the garbage disposal." He looked at her oddly and was about to speak before she cut him off. "Give it back to Mike and tell him if you want volume two or not."

Clay snorted. "Fine."

---

The cashier looked up at the two books being slid towards her. Their covers were pastel and bright, not to mention reversed from how they should be.

"That'll be nineteen dollars and sixty-four cents sir…Do you have a membership card with us?"

"Uh, yeah…Um…can you look it up by phone number?"

"Sure can."

"424-9451…"

"Forrester?"

"Yeah…"

"Thank you sir, that'll be seventeen dollars and eight-seven cents."

Clay looked inside the green plastic bag, somewhat ashamed but excited about the two books he had just bought. Stepping into the parking lot of the bookstore, he took in a deep breath of the cold night air. This was it…the start of something new.

Maybe.

But before that, he had to admit defeat to the younger sister of one of his annoyances.

* * *

Nehszriah: It's probably not what you're thinking of. Sorry hon. But yay for liking interaction! =D *shot*

Elven Apparition: You know how happy you've made _me?_ This made me all giggly and excited. I think you're the first person I've dragged over from DeviantArt. XD

Kuriei_Foxfire: Your words are the greatest compliment that can ever be given to me. ._.

If you want to see some artwork for the series, check out my DeviantArt. (If it's not on the front page, it'll be in the "Fan Stuff" folder in my gallery.)

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


	11. Voice

Heads Up: Woah! Hey guys! Thanks for sticking around, sorry about that. I'm in college now, and it takes up lots of my creativity. Sigh.

* * *

"I think you owe me a – holy crap what is that."

Clay looked up from the book he had hiding within his calculus textbook during study hall. Mike hovered over him, his height and composition lending commanding presence to the scientist who was sunk halfway into the chair.

"I uh – uh – I surely don't know what you are talking about."

"'It's an important and special day…to be spent with the most important in your life'," Mike read from the book, which Clay instantly snapped shut. Unfortunately, with one book hiding in another book, the bigger one didn't close, allowing Mike to grab the smaller one out.

"…So you did it. You concede defeat."

"…Yes."

The blonde held the second volume of _Otomen_ over his head, a maniacal grin on his face. "I can't let you live this down, you know. Especially after what you said to me…heh. Hehe! This is just too great! Oh man, I love it!"

"Shut up shut up shut up!" Clay hissed furiously, shooting up and managing to snatch the book back. "It's not like I _told_ anyone, Nelson, so keep _your_ mouth shut and I'll do the same."

Mike just grinned. "You know what? I don't even really care about that. I just want to see you admit to my sister that you like the series."

"Yeah, and? Whenever am I going to be coming to _your_ house for anything?"

"It'll happen. I know it will."

Clay sat down with a snort, cracking open his textbook and placing the manga inside of it. He continued to read about the boy with girly hobbies...who was viewed as the perfect man but had to keep his true self hidden to all but his two friends…He was always hiding what he loved, never really showing his true self…

The scientist sighed. There did, in fact, come a breaking point where the power of shoujo was too much even for him. Having reached that point, he snapped the book shut and leaned back in his seat, looking out the window at the grey and drab world of the outside.

It was winter, that was for sure. Every winter was pretty much like this – cold, dark, depressing, miserable. And nothing would change this except for moving far away and to someplace warm, like California. But the coasts seemed so boring in comparison to the Midwest. Their always perfect weather, their slight excitement if a hurricane or earthquake came along…It was nothing in comparison to where he was.

The bell rang. Clay snatched up his books and filed out to the hallway, but he hadn't even made it ten feet before a forest of blonde hair came into view.

"It's Dr. F! Hey buddy, how's it going?"

Clay groaned and turned to see Crow and another boy, this one with curly…blue hair? He didn't bother to question it, just rolled his eyes. "Hello…" he replied deftly. "Who's this kid?"

"Hey, c'mon! It's Cameron!"

It took a moment for the name to register. "…Tech crew. Sound and video. …Cam…bot."

The boy nodded vigorously. Clay raised an eyebrow, looking at Crow, before looking back. "Cameron?"

He nodded.

"What grade are you in?" He seemed rather young and a bit scrappy, looking to be about a freshman – but even that was a stretch.

Cameron pointed at Crow. "He's a sophomore, like me, duh."

Clay sighed. "Can't he speak?"

"He doesn't like to."

The scientist quirked his eyebrows. "Any…reason?"

"No, he just doesn't like to."

"Right…anyway…I have to get going, and so do you, so I'll…"

"We have tech after school, by the way."

"But there was tech Monday!"

"Yeah, but we don't have it Wednesday, so Struykman is making up for it today." Crow started pushing Clay down the hall. "See ya Dr. F!"

"Bye!" a previously unheard voice said. Clay craned his neck to see Cameron, grinning earnestly, and waving. He just sighed – again – and continued on to his locker.

As he spun the dial, he had to wonder…had to wonder. He was determined to change, to be different, to make some compatriots of these people who he was thrown in. But it was going to be hard.

---

"So we've got some new meat, I see."

Sure enough, right after school on Tuesday afternoon, Clay found himself in the auditorium once more, except the whole group was there having a meeting. Joel and Struyk sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling the short distance to the floor (about three feet), while the rest sat in the front row of seats. And with the exception of Clay, Frank, and Cameron, everyone was drinking cans of Mountain Dew.

"Yeah, they were here yesterday," Joel said, turning his head to look at the band/tech director. Struyk was a young, energetic man of half Thai descent with a forest of short black spikes on top of his head. He nodded at the inventor before eyeing the three and grinning.

"Nelson, finally got you here...Why didn't you try out?"

"Oh, I just didn't….want to," Mike replied casually. "I was planning on being busy."

"Planning is definitely the right word at this point…and uh…Frank. Frank, good to see you man. You took this as a class last year, didn't you?"

"Yeah uh…I…wasn't very good at it. I just…" He mumbled out the rest of the sentence, but Crow apparently heard it and snickered.

"Needed the humanities credit, nice. As do we all buddy, as do we all…"

"And Forrester…" Struyk stared at him the longest before closing his eyes and laughing, rubbing his nosebridge. "Geez…You're one person I never thought I'd see."

"I never thought I'd be here."

"Well, that's changing now, isn't it?" The director raised his eyebrows, still smiling, but looking rather menacing and devious.

Joel took this as his cue to continue on. "Err…o-on the plus side, the table saw is fixed, thanks to Gyps…So you guys don't go breaking it again, okay?"

"Hey, we just wanted to see if we could change the blade!" Tom cried out in defense. "How was I supposed to know that one bolt was imperative to operation?"

"Guys, I don't want you messing around with that stuff," Struyk said, suddenly being serious. "Remember, I'm technically responsible for this group and that's a job that shouldn't be done by you kids."

"…Then how come Gyps can do it?" Crow asked quietly, pouting.

"_Rose_ can do it because I _trust_ her."

"Oh – wha' - hey!"

The token female giggled while Cameron beamed with a smile. Joel rolled his eyes before clapping his hands. "Right, so today we…uh…What are we…"

"Today we're going to start building the platforms that'll be the base of the pyramid. But first…Let's see…Cameron, I want you...to take…Forrester…and go into the prop room, see if you guys can find some cord lights, you know, the ones I talked about? Yeah. Then Crow, I want you and…Mike…to take inventory of the lights. Count how many gels we have. Joel, Rose, Tom, Frank, come with me, we've got to go get the lumber, it's outside…"

With that, the group took off their separate ways, the blondes hiking up the stairs to the back of the auditorium, Clay and Cameron climbing up on stage and crossing the hall to get to the prop room. The scientist looked at the small sophomore with curiosity, wondering just how far he would get in conversing with this kid.

"Cameron?"

He looked at him, eyes alert with interest. But he said nothing. Perhaps if he asked a real question…

"Uh…what kind of lights are we looking for? What are cord lights?"

The boy stretched his arms out before clenching his fist so there was only a small opening. Clay mentally sighed – this kid was definitely used to these things.

So he decided to go with the Dr. F method.

"Why don't you talk?"

Cameron stopped moving and looked at him before looking off to the side, nervous and uncomfortable. Still…

"It's just…talking. Everyone does it. Makes life easier, you know. Speech is one of those things that humans are blessed with. Well, we don't know for sure, I mean, we know animals have ways of communicating, but there's something about humans, the patterns we have – the varieties and – God dammit." Spouting off information was certainly something he was good at it. _Too_ good at.

"…I…"

"You said 'bye' to me earlier, so you _do_ talk…"

"I don't like to," Cameron replied very quietly, his voice straining.

"So hey, he does speak." Alright, time to drop the Dr. F method. He opened the door to what had to be the prop room, allowing the smaller boy inside before he followed. Cameron immediately attacked a large wooden box while Clay stared around the room. It was a large, concrete room, stacked to the ceiling with props and decorations for whatever took place in the auditorium. There were chairs and tables, a wardrobe, random kitchen appliances, bookshelves, then dozens of plastic bins that held garland, lights, and various signs.

"I guess it's cool if you've never been in here," Cameron spoke again, his voice still straining. Clay snapped to alertness and decided to try and pry some more info from the kid.

"I guess so…Alright, c'mon kid, just tell me. I want to know."

"…Why."

He sighed. "I'm a _scientist_. This is the kind of crap I can't let be unsettled. Nothing is 'just 'cause'. If you were to write that down in a lab report, you'd get killed."

Cameron coughed, clearing his throat. "I don't talk because I don't like to." His voice, when not being secluded, was extremely high-pitched for someone claiming to be fifteen years old. It was more suited for somebody in grade school. "You know that whole 'puberty' thing? It –"

"Y-yeah, yeah, I get it." Clay held up his hand to make him stop. "So what…your voice? You're embarrassed about it?"

"You ever been made fun of for something you can't control?"

He had to think long and hard about that one. Really, everything he did that ever got him teased was stuff he could control. "…No."

"Yeah, see? When you sound like an eight-year-old and are five feet tall and saying you're sixteen –"

"Woah hey, you're sixteen?"

"Yeah. Got my license and everything."

"…Damn."

"See? Exactly!" Cameron sighed and slumped over the box before turning his head to look at Clay. "…Man, you've even got the facial hair going on."

"…Not really." Clay rubbed the stubble on his jawline and upper lip. "This is…I'm…I'm lazy, really."

"...So…what's with the white, anyway?"

"I was hit by lightning in seventh grade," the scientist replied monotonously. Cameron's eyebrows shot up.

"Woah, really? That's awesome!"

"Suuuure is…" He paused. "Wait, you actually believe that?"

"Hey, why not? That'd be a pretty dumb thing to lie about, especially to me."

"Guess so."

Cameron began flinging out various objects from the box – toys, books, empty boxes – before pulling out a mass of tangled light cords. "Here we go, rope lighting…Woah hey, what's this?"

"What's what?" Clay wondered as he took the tangled lights from him. He soon emerged from the depths of the box with what looked like a brown hat.

"…It's an aviator hat! Woah! Cool!" Cameron jammed it over his head, his mess of hair sticking out from at it at odd angles. "We have the coolest hats – here, try this one on."

Clay had little time to react as he was soon met with a fedora to the chest. He twirled it between his hands until Cameron looked at him, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

"C'mon, wear it."

Taking a deep breath to avoid him biting back, the scientist smoothed down his hair before plopping the hat on his head. His vision was suddenly half-blocked by a mess of hair, which he did his best to comb out of his sight.

"Haha, nice." Cameron grinned widely, pulling the mess of lights around his arm. "Well, this is…it. Guess we should go help bring in the lumber…"

As the two filed out of the room, Clay had one final question to ask.

"Hey, Cambot –" the name just slipped out "- if you get picked on for your voice…why do you come here?"

His smile was very small, but bright. "Because they don't pick on me here."

"But you…still don't talk."

"You're kidding, right?"

"…Huh?"

"I talk a _lot_ when I'm here." He grinned. "It's just – you guys showed up, and I'm not used to you, and I…I'm so used to people picking on me, so I don't say anything to strangers."

"So let me ask…When you, say, go to the grocery store and the clerks talk to you…"

Cameron sighed. "You don't know how many people have asked where my mom is, or if I got lost – oh, and this one time, I blew a stop sign and the cop pulled me over and he was like, so confused as to why I was behind the steering wheel..."

"Sounds like fun."

"Yeah, sure."

* * *

Kuriei: You continue to rock my socks off. The parallels I can draw between Otomen and this story make me start crying in fear. XD;

Nehs: Torgo's character-type is "the creepy but wise janitor", so...run with it, haha. And honestly, Mike would totally read shoujo and you know it.

Elven: Oh my God. The list is…endless. And full of so much potential! Mwaha! Mwahahhaa!

elethian: …Husband?! Duuude, I didn't think I'd attract people outside of the high school/college group. XD; Silly story is silly. And SCIENCE!

lovelessxxxwanderer: Thank you thank you thank you! So sorry for not updating for a long while. D: Glad to see you enjoy it!

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!

* * *

PS: I promise to try and get this updated faster than...2+ months.


	12. Brothers and Sister

Heads Up: So I didn't take two months, but I took longer than I wanted to. I ran into some issues with my lappy and it being unable to really type things for a while, but I've got a new machine and it's going! Thanks for sticking around.

* * *

Clay wasn't exactly sure how he had been conned into it, but come Friday after school, he was pulling into the driveway of the Nelson horse farm. In the passenger seat sat Mike himself, a big grin on his face as the scientist fumed in his seat. He reluctantly turned the engine off and removed his keys, throwing them in his coat pocket as the two piled out.

"Video game par-taaaay," the blonde said in a sing-song way, flinging his backpack onto his shoulders. "Hurry up Forrester, it's freezing out here."

"Shut up Nelson." Clay rummaged through his backseat before finding the object of his search, which he held with trembling hands. It took everything in him not to hurl it into the road and watch in delight as it became soaked with salt and dirt.

"…Haha, you have to give that back to Iris, don't'cha?"

"…Yes. Yes I do. And I have something to give her along with it."

"Please don't tell me it's your fist. ...Wha'd you call it? Mr. Fisty or something?"

"I did, but no, it's not that. Mr. Fisty only gets to interact with males. Dunno about you, but punching girls isn't quite up my alley."

"Good, because for your sake…I'd rather not get that shrimp angry. Jesus Christ she can deck you a solid one."

Mike was grinning like an idiot up until he looked up at the garage and noticed somebody standing here. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"…Eddie…" he murmured before pure white-hot fury sparked in his eyes. Even Clay was taken aback, noting that the gaze…the gaze was familiar. They were the same as that day just two weeks ago.

"Nelson…?"

But Mike didn't respond as he slid his backpack to the ground. He marched forward, shoulders squared, eyes firm, before winding back his arm and firing out a punch. Eddie, however, moved his head out of harm's way in time before he even looked at his younger brother.

The older brother was also tall and imposing, though he stood a solid inch above his younger counterpart. His hair was dark and spiked with a couple of loose strands fell into his eyes. He had a goatee and a mustache that seemed more haggard than planned, and was dressed rather poorly for the weather, donning mere jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid button-up.

"The hell kind of greeting is that?" he growled, picking the cigarette out from his mouth. "_Glad to see you too_, Mike."

"Don't say that," Mike seethed darkly, fists clenched. "Why are you here? Second semester's already started and you're supposed to be at school and off living in your own apartment – you know, _away from us_."

"You need to keep track of time better, little bro," Eddie replied with a smirk, flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette. "Last semester was my _last_ semester. I'm done."

"But…why are you…"

"Hey man, the economy blows, I've got no cash. Rent ran out, so here I am, back at home sweet home."

"Why didn't you tell Mom or Dad?"

"See now, that's the confusing thing. I actually _did_ – been talking to them for a while now about it. So when my dear little brother comes walking up the driveway with his…his…who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Uh –"

"None of your business," Mike snapped. "Answer my question."

"Hey hey, play nice now. I'm just out on a smoking break and I'm freezing my ass off."

"'nother perk of not smoking the deathsticks."

"Shut your face goldilocks, I don't need you lecturing me. Now, where were we? Ah yeah – so I dunno why Mom and Pops didn't tell you, but from what I've heard, you haven't been having the greatest track record lately."

Mike's face became pale. "…So you heard."

"I'm so proud of you little bro, _finally_ snapping and getting in your first brawl. And with three other guys too! But I do see how badly you got it back, so that takes some points off. Oh, and getting the car taken away and getting thrown off the basketball team and being forced to be with those loser techies? Man, you screwed up hardcore."

It took a moment for Mike to respond. "At least I didn't get arrested or thrown out of the house."

Eddie dragged in a long breath from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground. "All in the past, Mikey boy, all in the past." He exhaled the smoke right above his brother's head, smiling. "So then, who's the hippie?"

"Hippie…?" Clay mumbled, trying to think about how the word could possibly relate to him.

"Yeah, nice hair you've got going on."

Oh right, the ponytail.

"What's with the white? You dye it?"

"I was hit by lightning," he offered simply and flatly, plenty bored with the question by this point. He had never had to relay the statement so many times before, but for the past two weeks, it felt as if he had been saying it non-stop.

Mike sighed. "Shut up Eddie…"

"That hasn't worked before and it sure ain't hell going to start working now."

The blonde appeared ready to make a comeback, but he was interrupted when the garage door to the house opened. A middle aged man poked his head out, curious, but not surprised. "Ah, of course Mike's home, I thought I heard arguing."

"Hey Dad…"

"Hello Michael." Pause. "So this is the Forrester guy?"

Clay perked to attention as the presumed-Mr. Nelson came into the garage, he himself also not dressed to be outside for very long. Genetics being the way they were, he looked to be the father of the two, standing tall and firm, though the effects of age were starting to appear. Unlike many males his age, he still had hair, brown and somewhat curly, though it was started to recede.

"Uh, yeah…" A quick one-two thought process put Clay back on track. He cleared his throat and squared up his posture. "Hello Mister Nelson."

The man seemed confused but suddenly grinned. "Mikey Mikey, I don't get you at all boy. You should bring your friends home more often!" He paused. "Hey, speaking of bringing people home…can you go pick up Iris?"

"Whaaaat," Mike balked, shoulders slumping. "Why? And why can't you? …Hey, I don't even have a car!"

"Well one, she had that club thing. The…anime stuff. You know what it is. Two, I'm a tired old man who is feeding you and paying for your education. And three…" He paused, looking between his two sons, before grinning. "Three, go with Eddie."

"Wait, what!?" Eddie spat, once again grinding his foot onto his discarded cigarette. "I don't wanna cart around blondie and his hippie friend all to go pick up the shrimp."

Their father smiled a knowing yet also menacing smile. "Edward…I'm a tired old man who also paid for _your_ education and who is also _feeding_ and _housing_ you."

For once, Clay noticed the older brother falter in his expression. "…Okay, fine. Just let me get my jacket so I don't freeze my ass off while doing a _good deed_ for an old man."

"Correction, _your_ old man, the one responsible for creating half of you." He lifted his arms up and wiggled his fingers. "OooooOOOOOooh!"

Eddie forced his way past his father and into the house, leaving Mike and Clay in the garage, the latter thoroughly confused and slightly distraught. "…What's going on?"

Mike sighed. "We're picking up Iris from the middle school…she's in a club…and…C'mon, you heard what my dad said, what the heck." Suddenly, the blonde went from miserable to sociopathic. "HA! You HAVE to see my sister now! That's worth having to put with Eddie for longer than I have to, I promise you this."

"Yeah, worth it to _you_…"

"And who else would I want it to be worth for?"

Clay sighed, closing his eyes on purpose and allowing his mind room to clear. Within a few moments, the garage door was being slammed shut and the jingle of keys met the scientist's ears.

"Alright numbnuts, into the beast with you…"

With Eddie driving and Mike riding shotgun, Clay found himself in the first of two rows of backseats in "the beast", aka a beat-up black van held high on off-roading tires. He could only assume it was a hand-me-down situation, with the van having been used and abused around the farm, which was backed up by the bits of hay and clumped dirt scattered and smeared into the carpeting.

"How's the no-basketball thing working out for you?" Eddie asked with a malicious grin. Mike sighed and leaned his head against the window.

"Shut up."

"Mom and Pops were so looking forward to you playing varsity…the star! Oh, little Mikey, being the _star_! Finally something non-mediocre was coming from the blonde lump of –"

"Shut _up_, Eddie."

"But isn't it woefully ironic? He finally gets somewhere and then totally whizzes it down the leg. Excellent my brother, just excellent."

Mike decided not to respond, just pressed his head harder against the window. Clay remained silent, debating as to whether or not he should revel in the torment of the blonde. He decided to take quiet enjoyment while he could.

"I know what you're thinking, too," Eddie continued as the car swung a left turn into the middle school parking lot. "You're trying to turn this argument around and say how I'm a big nothing too, that I've done nothing with my life. Unnnfortunately for you, _I am_ a big lump of nothing who never really had any big ambitions, so your argument falls flat. Anyways, keep an eye out for the shrimpette."

"Dude, she won't be outside. It's too cold."

"You kidding? Man, kids these days are such wusses. Alright, fine, we'll go inside…wonder if any of my teachers remember me…"

"How could they forget," Mike mumbled under his breath, to which Eddie either ignore or didn't hear.

Clay found it rather odd to be back in the premises of the middle school which, although was very close to the high school, was far enough away that he didn't have to interact with it very often. The building seemed so small in comparison to how he remembered it. Of course, things always seemed that way.

The three stood in the slush-covered parking lot uneasily, Eddie's hand waving back and forth to his pocket before he finally took out a cigarette. Mike just sighed and separated himself and, Clay not wanting to be within close proximity to the elder Nelson brother, followed the blonde at half-pace.

"I think the anime group is in the art room, which is…over here?"

"Shouldn't you know?"

"Shouldn't _you_ know?"

Mike sighed before ruffling his hair and looking around the buildings. "I think it's about…forty feet that way…" He pointed off to a part of the building that jutted out into the asphalt, narrowing the parking lot into a driveway. "…I think?"

"Nelson, you _are_ the definition of dumb blonde."

"Yeah well, I at least don't look like a hippie."

"Your argument is weak."

"As is your face."

Clay opened his mouth to retort but instead fumed at just how terrible Nelson's own retort had been. He was then going to say something else, but a rather loud and angry shriek came to their ears.

"LAY OFF HIM!" said a female voice, to which Mike instantly perked to attention.

"Ohhhh crap, that's Iris." He ran off at top speed in the direction he had previously been pointing in, the scientist following, but also hearing a set of heavy footsteps behind him. Glancing back, he saw Eddie, his face dark and…rather pissed off.

"I like how you have to be protected by your girlfriend, Robinson," said a male voice, somewhat deep for being a middle schooler. Both Mike and Clay stopped in their track, their minds racing before coming to the same conclusion in relatively the same amount of time – the boy was talking about Jim, not Joel, Robinson.

"Who said anything about protecting? I just wanna kick your ass."

Eddie rushed past the two before they perked up and joined him, soon coming to a small courtyard surrounded by walls. There on one side was Jim, slouched against bricks, blood smattered on his face, with Iris standing between him and two other boys. She herself had a bloody nose and lip, but had her fists up, ready to attack.

"HEY," Eddie hollered before either Mike or Clay could even think. The four middle schoolers instantly looked over to the three, Iris suddenly beaming in delight before lowering her fists and putting her hands on her hips.

"Hey Eddie, Mike, Clay," she greeted before wiping her nose. "Don't worry, I can take care of these guys."

"Nah, nahhahaha, no," Eddie said with a grin, inhaling his cigarette before flicking it into a snow mound. "You see Iris, I'm rather proud of you here…but I gotta tell you something." He took a few steps forward, his hands in his pockets, his expression calm.

"H-hey, you can't beat us up! You'll get arrested!"

"You think I care? No matter what – nobody makes my sister bleed, punkass," Eddie growled, a tight and sadistic grin on his face.

"Y-you can't!"

"Oh? What's to stop me?"

The boys had the look of pure and absolute terror on their faces. Clay could only see the back of his head, but he was sure he never wanted to be on the receiving end of one of those looks from Eddie. He swallowed and just prayed he would never have to see it. Getting that look from Mike was still haunting enough.

"Eddie, you don't have to beat them up," Iris offered. "I can do that really easily myself."

"Hey c'mon, what kind of big brother would I be if I let my sister do that?"

"Well, you've been a pretty crappy one as it is, so I don't see why you should start now."

"Oh, your words, they cut deep."

"Truth hurts, don't it?"

Eddie sighed, shaking his head. "C'mon, get Robinson off the ground and let's blow this joint. You kids are making me nauseous. I'll be over in the beast, let blondie and hippie guide you."

Iris looked over to her brother (the blonde one) before grinning. "Mike, can you help me over here?"

* * *

Kuriei: That chapter is VERY close, I promise.

Elven: Oh yes I did! Aviator!Cambot is probably one of the cutest things around. Aviator!Cameron was actually the first version of him that I drew, so it just seemed to fit.

Nehs: HE MAKES YOU SQUEE BECAUSE HE IS A SHOUTA and yeah it's not right BUT OH WELL.

Special thanks to Robyn, Beth, Anchan, Spooky, and Queenie for your cracktastic support and ideas.

And of course, much love to the Best Brains of MST3K!


End file.
